


September 2020 Writing Challenge

by Anchanted_One



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multiple Warriors of Light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 22,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanted_One/pseuds/Anchanted_One
Summary: A series of tales set in the Shadowbringers storyline, starting right after the slaying of Raktika's Lightwarden and leading up to the confrontation of Don Vauthry in Eulmore.This series is mostly romance, and takes over from my Path of the Sword Saint story, which I have no hope of returning to until my main work is complete. Hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Lucia goe Junius/Warrior of Light, Minfilia Warde/Warrior of Light, Y'shtola Rhul/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 2
Collections: Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020





	1. Crux

* * *

“Can you be certain?”

“Most certainly, Minfilia,” Desmond assured the small girl “I have seen him in action. He is the greatest warrior in the Source.”

“It’s out of the question!” Thancred fumed. “Your solution to this problem is to ask the Exarch to summon another Scion from the Source?”

“Ran'jit is too good for us,” Eirika admitted sourly. “I don’t even know where to begin countering instinctsas sharp as his.”

“I do,” Desmond insisted. “You find someone else with instincts just as sharp. We’ve all seen him in action. He defeated Zenos and fought off Elidibus like it was nothing!”

“So he did,” Y'Shtola agreed. “Both feats that boggle the imagination. And yet I agree with Thancred. We cannot ask this of him.”

“But why?” Minfilia asked, her blue eyes wide. “Why is Summoning him any different from summoning any one of you?”

The group felt silent. The one to speak up was E'nisse. The Miqo'te Bard strummed a few cords on her harp before reciting in her melodious soprano.  
“His title of Sword Saint, an honor beyond honors, was upon him bestowed by a Kami named Bishamonten. But though it granted him prestige unparalleled, there were rules with title, going hand in hand. Never again was he allowed to partake in war, never was he to take a life. His mastery of the blade was considered holy, pure. Yet nothing is more impure, or so the Domans believe, than blood. To stain the blade and soul with gore was an insult to that idea of purity.”

Minfilia’s eyes sparkled. The young girl—still a child by every reasonable measure—nodded. She appeared to approve of this call to a bloodless way of living.

“But his people were occupied by Garlemard,” Y'Shtola took up the thread. “The Garlean governor was a vicious woman named Yotsuyu. Even in peacetime she was wont to harass her subjects. But when rebellion broke out, she became so cruel that entire villages were depopulated. Fields were sown with the blood and bones of the vanquished rebels. Ryosen is not a man who loved carnage. Every respect he had for the sanctity of life.”

“That was the very reason he abandoned the temple of Bishamonten,“ Thancred spoke. "He had spent over seven years in its hallowed gardens, maintaing his skill, worshipping as a monk, setting out on pilgrimages of the sword after every harvest as part of his service. But how could he continue to live a life aloof, when the people of Doma were being butchered? And so he joined the rebels in the last days of the Rebellion, leading dangerous Sutegamari actions. He halted the advance of Imperial Armies long enough for the refugees to be evacuated.”

“Heroic was his fight, so noble his deeds!” E'nisse cried. “And yet in violation of his oaths was he. Bishamonten grieved, tis said, for he sympathized with his devotees actions. But an oath is an oath, he said. And so a curse was laid upon him. Blood for blood, an eye for an eye. When he spills blood, his own blood protests. Every wound he marks upon his enemies leaves a mark unseen upon his own body, hurting like it was cut anew each day. He lives his days in agony, feeling every hurt he has ever caused by wounding an enemy. The agony of a thousand cuts and one will haunt his every waking moment until his eyes close for slumber eternal.”

“That’s terrible!” Minfilia cried. “This is the man you want to summon to aid us? Fighting someone as dangerous as Ran'jit will increase his agony tenfold!”  
But just then she noticed the sad manner in which Alisae looked at her. The Elezen Red Mage hastily tried to wipe her expression blank when Minfilia regarded her, but subtlety was not her forte.

“Why were you looking at me like that?”

Alisae shrugged broadly. “Tis nothing!”

But Minfilia wasn’t fooled. “His curse isn’t even the crux of the issue, is it? What could be worse than feeling an agony that is not his own?”

Alphinaud answered her. “What’s worse is his own agony.”

Minfilia rounded on him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “But why won’t anyone tell me what that is?” Alphinaud faltered. Everyone else turned away their gaze. “Please don’t stop there! Tell me! Are you hiding it from me because I am a little girl? Am I not your comrade too? Do I not deserve to know?”

“Tis a malady most foul,” Urianger answered. “A tragedy most evil. For he and Minfilia—the original Minfilia from the Source—were in love deep and sweet. Many a moonlit night did they spend talking, laughing. Never had I ever seen her laugh as she had in his presence. And his companions from Doma said that nor had they ever seen him so happy as well. The pair had resolved to marry upon his return from the mission to the Kobold 789th dig. Had fate not intervened… News of her disappearance pierced him more deeply than any arrow.”

Thancred stated the obvious conclusion that the girl was struggling to see with a deep reluctance and pity. “You are Minfilia, yet you are not. Meeting you will only reopen wounds he has tried hard to close.”

Minfilia’s eyes were round, her face a bright scarlet. “Oh,” was all she could say. Like most other people of Norvandtr, the original Minfilia, Oracle of Light, was a person she held in the highest regard. Even the Scions, many of whom had known her most of their lives, spoke of her in awed and respectful tones. The idea of Minfilia the woman, a living breathing girl who could laugh and blush and fall in love had never occured to the young girl.

Everyone fell silent now, each lost in their own thoughts. Minfilia looked round at her comrades, studying their expressions. She took a deep breath. But faltered.

“What is it?” asked Thancred, not missing a beat.

“Can you tell me about him?” Minfilia asked in a strained rush. “About them? Please?”

* * *


	2. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minfilia the Younger is intrigued about the man who the first Minfilia fell in love with.

Erika gigled. It was good to know that this girl was a sucker for a good romance, but there was little good about the way this one had ended. Erika remembered the day they all met Minfilia in Hydaelin’s world, during their final encounter with the Warriors of Darkness. Ryosen had been there too, and though Minfilia wasn’t dead, the implication of her having fused with the Goddess was unmistakable: she wasn’t coming back.

Ryosen had walked up to the ascended Minfilia, and with a tearful smile, asked if they could be together once his own story ended. The woman whom Erika had known had surfaced for a moment, and favoured him with an equally tremulous smile. She had professed her eternal love for him, and said she would count the minutes until that far-off day arrived.

They had tried to hold hands, but hers had passed right through his, and then began to disperse into shimmering particles of Pure Light. She had disappeared then, taking the Warriors of Darkness with her. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn had been returned to the Source, and all light had faded from Ryosen’s eyes despite the bright smile he had on his face. He had lost something precious that day, or rather the last vestiges of it; for he had long since admitted that he knew in his heart that she wasn’t coming back. 

“I am glad I got to see her one last time with these eyes,” he had said. But lines had appeared on his face that hadn’t been there before. His eyes had sunken deep into their sockets, casting a haunted appearance on his face. His Dark, red-tinged hair had started to thin, and go white. His last defenses against his crippling bouts of pain were also fell soon after. That wasn’t to say he was any less deadly a swordsman: his curse did not affect him when he held a sword in his hand, but when he put it away, the shadows would close in again.

Erika came out of her ruminations to see that E'nisse—the bard of the Merry Suns—had begun the tale of Ryosen the Sword Saint from a very unlikely place; in the palace of Ala Mihgo after the defeat of Zenos and Shinryuu.

The rose-gold haired little Miqo'te swayed before the littler campfire, dancing to the cords she gently plucked on her harp in a soulful.

“The allies gathered in Ala Mihgo, a nation crushed underfoot by the iron heel of Garlemald. A nation that had been ground harder and harder, until by right no spirit should remain to oppose the cruel invaders. But even buried under decades of brutality, there was fuel enough to rise into an inferno when a spark was lit! And so it was, that within three months of determined fighting, the occupiers were pushed out of Ala Mihgo. The Leaders of the Resistance, both young and old, gathered at the former home of kings to light the beacon of a revived country; but even in this happy occasion the dark clouds would close in.

"One tribe of the Ananta, once bewitched by their Primal Shree Lakshmi whom they had invoked in their fear and despair, insisted on attending the Spring Summit. But unbeknownst to anyone, they had hidden caches of Crystals away beneath the floors of the palace, caches smuggled in by ensorcelled men and women. The doors barred by the tempered ones, those attending were trapped. Easy prey to a Primal influence were any who were not protected by the Echo. The only Chosen of the Crystal within the chamber were myself and Arenvald Lentius, one an archer, not a protector; the other a green recruit.

"Late to react were we, and Lakshmi pounced even as she materialized. Orbs of silver and pink she conjured before her, and hurled them at nearby delegates. All who were touched were Tempered. Among her first targets was Ryosen, who while a mighty warrior of mortals, had no power over this entity so powerful. Worse still, he was armed only with a wooden sword, uneasy with any true blade since he had sold his treasured heirloom, the Thunderclap. But he did not falter. He drew the Bokken, and slashed at the orbs. But like an avalanche they bore down upon him, a stream of rock against whom all resistance futile. One ball threw him against a pillar with great force, leaving him unconscious. The sword was knocked out of his hand, and an orb closed in to claim him.

"Only to at the last be hurled aside with the force of a god’s throw. Stunned was the Primal, as was everyone who looked on. A dozen more orbs upon him bore down, only to disappear into thin air, or stop dead in their tracks and fall onto the floor, or be deflected into the roof above. A voice rung clear, soaked through in fury and outrage. 

”‘This man belongs to me!’ it cried. 'You cannot have him!’“

"My shock was such that I, a Bard, was lost for words! For I heard the voice and knew it well. It belonged to Hydaelyn, but my heart knew the words belonged to Minfilia. For behind Her rage I could hear the love Minfilia had professed to Ryosen that day they met last in the flesh. I could hear everything that had been Minfilia; her compassion, her wisdom, her kindness, her strength, and I knew; even so taken from us, her love remained. Even Ascended and in the arms of the Mother, she still kept her tie to the man who she would have married had fate been kinder.

"I had sung before of love that transcended death, of bonds that surpassed destiny. But mere words I had thought them, an artist’s fancy. To see it play out before mine eyes like that was a sight that filled me with such joy and hope that it dispelled all grim thoughts forever! In my mind’s eye, I thought I saw Minfilia lean beside him—Minfilia as she had once been, young and girlish—brush his hair in a kiss. And then the battle with the Primal was rejoined, and the noise began again. Once we emerged, we returned to the daily threat of approaching legions of Garlemard and the rampage of the Primals. But always, always I keep the tale of Ryosen and Minfilia in my heart.”

As the Bard wound down her tale, silence reigned upon the group. It was broken when Erika began to clap enthusiastically, while Desmond and Olivier tried to turn away to hide their tears while Alphinaud wept more openly, for he still felt responsible for the betrayal of the Crystal Blades. Thancred stared into the fire, his expression taking extremes; wonder and disquiet, joy and sadness. Urianger nodded sagely, intoning a verse about gods and fate. 

Y'Shtola smiled resplendently. “That was beautiful, E'nisse!” she praised the smaller Miqo'te. “Why have you not sung this tale to us before? Why has not Lyse told it to us? Or Raubahn?”

“Perhaps enhanced our perception had been by the Echo? The reason I know not. All I can say is that they saw not what I and Arenvald. They heard no voice, saw no phantasms. What explanations they had for Ryosen’s being spared that evil fate, I know not. Perhaps they think Bishamonten intervened. Why did I not speak of it? I could not, until today. It caught in my throat when I tried to speak of it. But today it was Minfilia who asked us to tell her about their love, and no better tale had I than this, and my tongue obliged.”

The little Minfilia in front of them wrung her hands and smiled beatifically. “Thank you, thank you!” She sobbed, tears flowing from her eyes. She ate in silence for the most part, but every so often she would squeal or sob with emotion.

After a time, she turned back to the group. “But you can’t stop there! Tell me more!”


	3. Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One story is never enough.

“More?” Erika laughed. “You’re a girl after my own heart, Minfilia!”  
Minfilia beamed up at her. “Wouldn’t you want to know more?” she asked.  
“Yes,” Thancred said. His voice quivered with emotion. “I certainly do. Minfilia, Ryosen… I knew they were in love of course, but the depths… even there in the Crystal Realm I could not see!”  
“Thou werest dealing with your own bottomless grief, my Friend,” Urianger patted him gently. “Too well do I remember the look on they face, for it will haunt me until the end of my days, for twas by mine actions that she was lost to us forever.  
Thancred had nothing to respond. It was truth, what Urianger had just said, and it stung deep, no matter that the Elezen Scholar had the best of intentions.  
He had not been ready to say goodbye to her. He did not think anything could have prepared him for that particular burden, however. Images of Minfilia—from her days as the young Ascilia until the day he looked into her eyes and did not recognize the gaze staring back into him—swam before his eyes.  
He had loved her like a sister. She had meant the whole world to him.  
It broke his heart. Mustering his will, he looked around the campfire, at his friends. Save for the child who had inherited her will, every one of his comrades had also had their own stories to tell. Of Ryosen, of Minfilia.  
Erika, the fearless leader of the Merry Suns. Desmond, the Rogue from Limsa Lominsa. The runaway Azure Dragoon Olivier. The master archer and travelling bard, E'nisse the Spellsinger.  
His fellow Scions—Y'Shtola and Urianger and Alphinaud, and even Alisae, who had stayed separate from the Organisation while Minfilia led it.  
Everyone had stories to tell. Whether they be small stories, everyday anecdotes, or events that shook the foundations of the Source, he found himself wanting to know, desperately.  
"Yes,” he said louder than he had intended, his voice shaking. “I want to know more!”


	4. Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred tells a tale of F’lhaminn leading the shy lovers on an adventure

“Alright then!” Y'Shtola said, a bright twinkle in her pearly eyes. “Speaking for myself, I wish we had done this ages ago. It felt like we never held a remembrance for Minfilia. We could not have asked for a more perfect time!”

“So who’d like to go next?” Thancred asked, eyes still heavy.

“Why not you, old friend?” Urianger prodded. “No one knew her better than you did, save perhaps for Lady F'lhaminn.”

“Who is F'lhaminn?” Minfilia asked. 

Thancred smiled fondly. “We can scarce examine every life that Minfilia’s touched. But F'lhaminn—the Songstress of Ul'dah—is perhaps appropriate to touch upon. After all, she was Mifilia’s mother.”

“Her Mother?” the younger Minfilia asked. “But her name, it sounds Mystel… I mean Miqo'te!”

“So you noticed that, did you?” Thancred laughed. “Well spotted!”

The small girl swelled with pride, as she always did when Thancred praised her.

“Indeed, F'lhaminn was not her birth mother, rather her adoptive one. When Minfilia’s Father, Warburton, died from injuries sustained from a goobbue attack, F'lhaminn took her in and raised her. The two women could not have been closer had they indeed been Mother and Child.”

“Was she the one who raised Minfilia to be such a great woman?” the child asked, eyes sparkling.

“Lady Minfilia hath always been inclined most readily to kindness and compassion,” Urianger said. “But the Lady F'lhaminn certainly did her part to reinforce Minfilia’s nature. Easy it would have been for Minfilia to travel down paths, led astray by unhappy thoughts and festering sorrow. But F'lhammin worked patiently. Tirelessly. And within no time at all, Minfilia was back to her old, sincere self.”

Thancred’s heart wandered down the musical passages of his memory before he picked an anecdote of F'Lhaminn, Ryosen, and Minfilia.

He smiled. “Alright. I got one!”

*

“Minilia!” F'lhaminn called. “This way!” She hopped from rock to rock, tail straight as an arrow from her excitement.

“Please wait!” Minfilia called, huffing and puffing. “I… can’t… keep… up!" 

She stopped in her tracks, doubled over and hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. A stitch in her side ached so badly she feared that it would last the rest of the week. She felt deeply embarrassed. She may not have been a field agent, preferring to manage the affairs and movements of the Scions from their Headquarters, but she did dedicate an hour every day to exercise—and three on weekends! It was so embarrassing to be outdone by someone so much older than her even by a little bit, let alone to the point where F'lhaminn wasn’t even breathing hard while she, Minfilia, could hardly breathe.

"Here,” Ryosen offered her his bottle. There was a sheen of sweat upon his horned brow, and he was also breathing more heavily than normal from the exertion. But years of practice meant he probably had hours to go before he would really start to tire. “Have a sip, Minfilia-sama. But don’t go more than a mouthful! It will hinder rather than help!”

Minfilia gratefully accepted the proffered bottle and took a deep draught. “Thank you Ryosen-san!” she said gratefully. It was difficult to maintain her usual dignity with her pale hair plastered to her face by sweat, so she abandoned it altogether. “Oh, my hero! Could you be a bigger hero and carry me on your shoulders?” She tapped one of his broad arms as high as she could reach with her muscles all numb. 

Mmmmmh! What had been in that bottle? It was sweet like blueberries and cream, and it’s effect was remarkable! She felt like a gentle, cool breeze was spreading through her veins.

“I would love to,” Ryosen grinned wide. “But I think you have another malm in you. You are not yet as tired as you think!”

Minfilia groaned pitifully. Ryosen was like a Gridanian life coach at heart, always encouraging everyone to push their envelope as far as they could, never interfering unless he suspected they were out of their depth.

Most days she admired how good he was at this, and acknowledged that there was some merit to letting people persevere and realize just how strong they truly are, rather than stepping in every time they broke a sweat. 

But today she was on the receiving end of his lesson, and looked at him mutinously.

“Now now,” he said brightly. “Don’t look at me like that! Remember what you told Yda the other day?”

Minfilia lowered her head with exaggerated dispiritedness. “‘Can you imagine the pride you will feel when you accomplish your goal?’”

“Actually, what you said was, 'Grin and bear it, squats champion!’”  
Minfilia groaned again.

Ryosen’s eyes grew more serious. “It’s alright. You can do this. Besides,” he nodded at F'lhammin a few dozen yalms away, where she had also stopped to catch her breath. “If you recover quickly enough you might overtake her!”

Minfilia felt her face brighten. “That lights a fire in my belly!”

“Not too fast,” Ryosen cautioned. “Or you’ll tire yourself out even worse. I guarantee you will feel embarrassed afterwards if I have to carry you after all while your Mother walks.”  
“Hai!” she cried, loping along the trail.  
As it turned out, she did manage to overtake her mother briefly, and even completed their trek without needing assistance.

She was feeling quite good about herself as she collapsed onto the shore of the mountain lake F'lhaminn had scouted out on one of her excursions. She lay down on her back, allowing the wind to bring the scents of the many flowers blooming in the meadow. A few butterflies danced above her head before one of them descended lazily onto her nose.

She giggled.

“Well done, Minfilia!” F'lhaminn beamed. 

“Thank you Lhammin,” Minfilia gasped, sending the butterfly darting away. “I didn’t think I could make it!”

“Not that,” F'lhaminn said softly, sitting down next to her. “You clinched yourself a really good man. I’m so happy for you!”

Minfilia bolted upright, her face flushing. “Wh-wh-wh-wh-what?” she stammered red faced. Her face was so hot she thought steam was rushing out of her ears. She waved her hands animatedly in a manner which screamed denial. “It’s not like that, not at all! Absolutely not! Ryosen-san is just…”

F'lhaminn laughed, patting her gently. “Oh? So it was just my imagination then. You Certainly don’t light up like a hundred suns when you feel his presence. And that unbridled joy that I have never seen you exude is just me too. I understand.” She winked. “It’s the worst kept secret in Mor Dhona. Even Papalymo has noticed it.”

Minfilia tried to quieten down but her face still felt quite hot. “Do you think he… likes me?”

“I think that even he has his own fears,” F'lhaminn whispered conspiratorially. “It’s difficult to remember sometimes that he was cloistered in Bishamon’s temple since he was thirteen. There were some things he never got to experience growing up. Even he still has things he could learn. He would never tell anyone his true feelings first. Does that give you pause? If it does, the two of you will be doing this dance for the rest of your lives. We only live once you know.”

Minfilia said nothing. She watched Ryosen. He stood some distance away, getting a fire going to cook their evening meal. She smiled at the thought of his cooking. He wasn’t too bad at it, especially when using foraged ingredients.

“See, there’s the sort of smile I never saw on your cheeks before!” F'lhaminn sang. “There are smiles, and there are these beautiful expressions that come straight from your soul and light up your whole body, but which we must also call smiles because vocabulary is limited like that!”

Minfilia chuckled. “Yes,” she admitted at last, for the first time in words. Her voice was so high it sounded like a songbirds. “I do… I do… l-l-like him.”  
Her Mother pulled a face at her choosing the word ‘like’. “And he _likes_ you too,” she huffed.

“What should I do?”

“Decide that for yourself!” F'lhaminn got onto her feet. “I brought you two here, to the most romantic spot I have ever seen, hoping you can work this out like grown-ups. The rest is up to you! Do not let me see you back in Revenant’s Toll for at least five hours. I’m keeping count!”

With that, she recited a spell and teleported back to the Mor Dhona Aetheryte.  
For the second time in ten minutes, Minfilia was so caught off guard it felt like she’d been knocked skywards. “Eh…. ehhhh? EHHHHHHHHH?”

*

The group laughed heartily.

“I do believe thou art making that up, mine Old Friend!” Urianger cried, tears streaming down his face.

“On mine honor, it’s true!” Thancred said with mock indignation painted on his face.

“How did you ever hear that?” Y'Shtola asked. “Not Minfilia herself? Or Ryosen?”

“From F'lhaminn of course.” Thancred smiled. “She said 'And that’s how you put your foot down, Thancred! And that’s how you win my girl’s heart.’”

Another round of laughter broke out over the campfire.

It was twenty minutes later that Erika broke the silence that followed. “Dinner’s ready! I chose Ryosen’s method of cooking for obvious reasons!”

*


	5. Matter-of-Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief interlude

“Minfilia-sama was such an ordinary woman!” the smaller Minfilia blurted excitedly. “Well… she’s so amazing too, so strong, and beautiful, and holy… but she’s…”

“A living, breathing woman, just like you and me? As a matter of fact, she was!” Y'Shtola smiled and tapped the child’s nose. “Well. You’re still a little woman for now, but still!”

“You said this was Ryosen’s style of cooking?” Thancred raised an eyebrow at Erika. “It’s no different from yours or mine!”

“Well of course!” she said evasively. “I clearly failed. I’m bad at copying another person’s style.”

“Not that his cooking is too different from this while travelling,” Desmond added.

“While on the road, even a master chef works under certain constraints,” E'nisse said. “Mmmm! Tasty!”

“Thank you,” Erika swallowed some stew.

“Who’s next?” Minfilia asked enthusiastically.

“MY TURN!” Alisae shouted. “I have just the thing.”

“You didn’t know Minfilia at all, or Ryosen very well,” Alphinaud objected.

“Shut it!“

"Alisae,” Thancred said uncomfortably. “We know that you love to tell smutty stories, and…” he was very aware of the littler Minfilia.

She pointed her butter knife like it was a dagger. “I said shut it!”

“Alisae,” Y'Shtola said, suddenly serious. “You shut it.”

“… Yes ma'am.”

*


	6. Pathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragoon Olivier has a tragic story to remind others how mortal even the best of us are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter: TW for violence and minor canon divergence due to unscheduled villain death

Olivier eventually spoke up. “I’ve got one,” he announced, pushing his blue-black hair out of his eyes. “But it’s a sad one.”

“Then why bring it up?” Alisaie objected, sour from having her spicy story silenced. 

“As a reminder that tragedies are just as important, for they have showed that we lived.”

“Go on, then!” Thancred said, forestalling Alisaie’s outburst, to which she glowered daggers at him. 

But he ignored her, his eyes instead meeting Y'Shtola, Urianger, Alphinaud, E'Nisse, and Erika’s one by one. Since it was Olivier speaking, they had a fairly good idea of which story he would tell. But it was like he said, it was wrong to discount tragedies. And perhaps the little girl might better grasp Ryosen’s present state of mind, and why some were reluctant to bring him into this.

“This exchange I witnessed not myself,” Olivier said. “But heard from Papashan, once a Chief Paladin in service to the Sultana of Ul'dah.”

Thancred saw Erika bite her tongue and understood why. That was not even close to the kindly Lalafell’s official title, but there was no need to bring that up right now

Yuyuhase Luluhase sat at a table belonging to one of the ale stalls lining the poorer markets in Ul'Dah. He was going through his third mug of cheap ale right now, and in the mood for a hundred more today, to celebrate how he had escaped Halatali by the skin of his teeth.

“Oi, Stocari!” he called the proprietor. “One more!”

“But sir, you’re going through too many drinks at once!”

Yuyuhase stuffed a fistful of coins in his direction and screamed. “MORE! NOW!”

Someone approached him from the nearby gate and placed a bottle of brandy before him. “Here,” the tall man said. “It’s on me.”

“Ahhhh, thank you!” Yuyuhase grinned at the bottle, not even looking at his newest, bestest drinking buddy. “You, sir, know how to make a Brave feel special!”

“Think nothing of it, sir.”

“Oh but I cannot!” Yuyuhase cried, wasting no time pouring one for himself. He barked for another glass and filled that too, roughly pushing it towards the other. “You see, I cannot be paid enough to risk my life like I do. And I am barely getting paid at all these days!”

The other man made a sympathetic noise. “That’s such a shame!”

“Oh, but you have no idea, good sir!”

“What did you fight this time?”

“The traitors, the Scions! They were illegally attempting to save an accomplice and fellow traitor, former Flame General Raubahn, from his execution!”

“No!”

“Indeed!” Yuyuhase agreed heartily. “They are devils, the lot of them! They fight like men and women possessed! I don’t often find myself fighting so desperately, but this time, oh boy!” He downed the glass in one. “MMMMMH that’s good!” he cried. “Thank you for the drink, my good fellow!” he looked at his companion almost for the first time and his heart stopped. “You!” he hissed. He reached for his sword. “YOU!”

A blur of motion, a moment of pain and confusion, and Yuyuhase was looking up at the man from the floor. His own sword stuck out of his chest.

“Me,” the Samurai said as he walked away as screams broke out throughout the plaza.

*

Ilberd Feare, Captain of the Crystal Braves following their betrayal of the Scions, stood before the Monetarist Council and raved. He incoherently ranted about Scions, traitors, Monetarists, money, and Scions again. He occasionally threw in the Garleans and Ala Mihgo in his tirade, because why not?

Lolorito was growing tired. He held up his hand. “Stop, stop!” he sneered. “You are making even less sense than usual. Why is it you are even here? Weren’t you kicking your heels in Halatali? Didn’t you kidnap ex-Flame General Raubahn—against orders—and take him for summary execution? Was killing a starved, one-armed prisoner beyond your meager abilities?”

“Hold your tongue, Lord Lolorito! After all I have done for you!”

“You botched everything!” Lolorito informed him coldly. “The whole episode was messed up so royally it’s no wonder we didn’t crown you ‘King Botch’! The Scions were supposed to be contained, but you allowed every one of them to escape your clutches! How many of our men—yours and mine—died to stop a handful of escapees? The damage they caused cost several fortunes to repair! If I had been willing to part with so much money, I’d have just bought a fleet of yachts or the Sultana’s personal chambers, or something of that sort! The only thing you succeeded in was capturing Raubahn, and even that was because I offered to let him see his beloved Sultana’s body if he stood down!”

Ilberd growled. He foamed at the mouth. “So what? Didn’t you get what you wanted? You rule Ul'dah unopposed! In exchange for my support, you promised to march on Ala Mihgo. Quit stalling! I demand you deliver on your promise!”

“You make no demands of me, backstabber!” Lolorito barked. “You were willing to sell your own grandmother for a vague promise to free Ala Mihgo! You are lucky the one whose promise you ultimately believed was mine and not Teledji! I will keep my promises. When resources allow it. That is a guarantee.”

“It’s not like I can ask for my money back!” Ilberd screamed, face going red. Heavens he was about to start off on another rant! “The day I turned my blade on the Scions I made an incalculably strong statement, one I can never take back even if I wished. All I’ve gotten in return are words.”

“Well too bad, because my guarantee is all you will get for now,” Lolorito said, studying his fingernails disdainfully. “Remember that had I been false, I would have eliminated you and your treacherous brethren a few Braves at a time but you first. For you are all massively loose ends. Yet you live. I have openly kept you in my service. I have protected you from Admiral Merlwyb and Elderseer Kan-E Senna. I have allowed you and your men to resupply for free from our armories and our food stores. I have authorized buildup of stockpiles near Baelsar’s Wall. I will not have you question my commitment to our bargain again.”

“Then why didn’t you allow us to kill Raubahn?”

“Because he is useful to me!” Lolorito hissed so acidly that the Ala Mhigan revolutionary bared his teeth at him. 

“I have had enough of your shite!” he grated. “When you wake up tomorrow, there will be no Braves to watch your back.”

“The Braves will be where I pay them to be. You, on the other hand, are free to go. A free man. And bearing the equipment I paid for. In fact—” Lolorito hurled a bag of coins in his direction, the one he carried for his daily petty expenses. It was worth at least five year’s pay for the average high ranking Officer in any army. “For your services. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

The man’s features clouded with disbelief. He stood rooted to the spot for the next minute, but what he ultimately would have done, even he never found out.

*

What happened next would go down in legends.

The door exploded inwards with such force it knocked over the heavy council table. Several of the Monetarists screamed pitifully, and ducked, and fled to the far corners of the room.

*

“Isn’t the room round?” Erika wondered, not able to take another wild inaccuracy.

“Shhh,” Olivier shushed her. “I’m trying to tell a story here!”

“He is good at telling stories,” E'nisse commented. “I can see why Lucia likes him.”

“Please?”

“Of course.”

*

“What is the meaning of this?” Lolorito demanded, having been the only one to hold his seat. 

“Ryosen, the Samurai,” Ilberd spat. “The one called the'Sword Saint’.”

“And you,” the Sword Saint whispered, his eyes burning, “are the one called the 'Rabid turncoat’.”

“Mister Ryosen,” Lolorito challenged him. “How dare you brandish weapons in here? This is a hallowed hall!”

“Not so hallowed that you don’t lie and cheat!” the Samurai grated. “Or betray the ones who have saved you and yours time and again! I think the Twelve will agree that a trouncing is long overdue. The Kami of my people certainly would.”  
He raised his weapon, and everyone was startled to see it was a baton—no, a thick flute—not a sword. “Tell me where the Scions are, or no one leaves today alive!”

Some of the cowering merchant elites moaned and whimpered. Some prayed to a god they would have tried to cheat only hours before.

Ilberd stepped forward, a nasty smile splitting his face. “They are dead, all of them! I killed them with this very sword!” He unsheathed his magnificent scimitar, Lionshead and kissed it. “You have some guts coming at me with that flute! You don’t even have a real sword, and you dare think to 'avenge’ those traitors as you are?” He leered at the wooden Bokken at the Samurai’s waist.

“On your guard, turncoat!”

The two men stood regarding each other for several long moments. It occured to Lolorito to look outside the hall. Hundreds of guards stood outside, looking on pathetically. Brass Blades, Immortal Flames, Crystal Braves, and even some of the elite, white-clad Sultansworn. Not a one of them had opposed the Samurai’s explosive entry into the very heart of the city. What had happened? How had he managed to so utterly cow several armies?

Then the tense standoff ended. The Samurai became a blur, disappearing and reappearing behind his opponent, with several loud thwacks of wood on skin echoed through the room. 

Ilberd roared with pain and his sword clanged to the floor from nerveless fingers. A heartbeat after, he fell to one knee, gasping for breath. One hand, the left one, clutched at his chest, where the flute—the damned flute!—had evidently struck at his solar plexus.

For the first time, real fear entered Lolorito’s chest. He wondered if moving against the Scions hadn’t been the worst decision of his life.

“Let’s try that again,” Ryosen said, his soft voice oozing with the menace of a dozen Garlean superweapons. “Where are the Scions?”

Cursing and glaring, Ilberd did not respond. After some time, he reached for his sword again, then got back to his feet. The Samurai made no move to stop him. Nor did his dangerous expression shift.

The Captain of the Braves issued a battle cry that resonated in the tall Council Chamber and assaulted his opponent with such reckless abandon that one would have sworn that the Samurai was his most hated enemy.

Ilberd was a skilled swordsman, that had been proven several times over. It had been proven when he disarmed the legendary Raubahn—distracted though he might have been. It had been proven—though to a much smaller audience, when he had been single-handedly responsible for his inner circle’s escape from Halatali, where he had fought the Leader of the Merry Suns Legion, the mighty Eikon slayer. It had been proven in the dozens of battles he had fought in the thickest parts of the actions, and survived.

But it was clear to all how badly outmatched he was.

For one thing, the Samurai was using a flute to ward off attacks from live darksteel.

For another, that Samurai was barely moving. Only his left hand appeared to be in motion, knocking aside blow after blow after blow with such bored ease that it appeared comical. He did not even take a single step in any direction, absorbing the momentum of Ilberd’s charge like it was nothing.

But Ilberd fought ferociously. He tried to flank the Eastern swordsman, to attack from below or above or behind, only to be thwarted without Ryosen even keeping his eye on him. 

The divide between them only infuriated Ilberd further, and he took to ever more reckless tactics. He leapt into the air and slammed his blade down, only for the Samurai to actually catch the blade with his empty right hand. He clenched his fist, infusing his grip with the same demonic strength that kept his flute from breaking against a sword’s cruel edge, crumpling the steel like it was wet plaster. He punched Ilberd in the jaw and sent him sprawling into the splintered table.  
But Ilberd wasn’t done. With swords working to no avail, he took to words. “So you want the Scions? I’ll tell you where they are!” He grinned again, broader and more evilly than ever before. “Dead. Buried under a hundred tons of rubble. Their bones are probably flatter than pancakes right now.”

He tried to charge forward again, only to trip and fall on his face.

“Yda and Papalymo were cornered in the Royal Promenade. They fought well, of course, but it was only a matter of time. They collapsed the stairs. Quite messy!”

He suddenly stood again and closed in on Ryosen, swinging his broad blade faster than the eye could see. A sound of wood hitting metal, and another of wood striking flesh, and Ilberd was sprawled on the table again, one foot in an awkward angle.

“Y'Shtola and Thancred put up a fierce last stand in the tunnels underneath the city, but they too set off an explosion that caused a heavy avalanche. So heavy was the rockfall that it sunk sections of the wall. Nasty business!”

He stood again to his full height. This time, he advanced at a painfully slow pace.

“Some of the others escaped, of course—” and here his smile grew even more twisted. Before his next words were out of his mouth, Lolorito already knew that he was about to overstep.

“But Minfilia, precious Minfilia Warde, is missing! No one knows what could possibly have happened to her! Me? I think her bones rest in the sewers somewhere…”

What happened next, no one could tell. The flute had fallen from the Samurai’s hand; he had unsheathed instead the wooden sword at his waist. He had, once again, gotten behind Ilberd in the blink of an eye, with only the cacophony of wood striking flesh, cloth, leather, and iron mail to hint at his ferocious attack.

“Eh?” Ilberd uttered before he fell onto the grounds as a dozen disconnected body parts. His expression was pure, soul crushing shock. Evidently the Samurai had sliced him up as easily with an edgeless, wooden blade as he would have with a sword. Why would the man even need one if he was so deadly?

Belatedly, the warning of the east-obsessed merchant Garumi Borofumi; “This man was introduced as ‘ Kensei ’—which roughly translates to ‘Sword-Saint’! It is a title far more illustrious and prestigious than all of us combined could ever accomplish! It is only given to the most gifted of swordsmen, with its bearers being considered to be of such skill far surpassing human ability! I don’t think there have been more than three bearing that title in the last six hundred years!”  
Time seemed to have stopped, but then it began to move again, and it came with the most curious sensations.

For a second, Lolorito fancied that he smelled some sweet flower—A cherry blossom?—But then the only smell filling his nostrils was Ilberd’s blood and guts.

He thought he felt ice coating his skin, and the hairs on his moustache and beard; but it was just the cold grip of terror.

He imagined the sensation of moonlight falling on his outstretched limbs, but then he felt as if he had been tossed into the darkest hole on the face of the source, and far away from even the memory of light.

The Samurai now turned his attention fully to him. “Where… are… the Scions?”

*

Ryosen walked dejectedly out of the city of Ul'dah. No one tried to stop him. For better or worse, he had made his point. He walked up to the exit from the underground tunnels, the ones the surviving Scions had fled out from. His composure hung by a thread. 

He had been helping the Kobolds at dig 789 for over three months. They needed help toughening up, and he was glad of the task. Teaching was one of the expected pastimes of his title, and though he had no longer any claims to it, he appreciated the brief return to his oaths. 

He had found the Kobolds good students, eager to learn how to defend themselves. And he had a small something to look forward to upon his return to Mor Dhona—his official engagement to Minfilia. 

Every moment had been fun, but also agony. He wanted to be with her again, to share their dinners. He had often wondered if she remembered to sleep.  
And then one day, Admiral Merlwyb had issued forth from Limsa Lominsa herself to bring him the news. She had been appalled that he hadn’t heard what had befallen his treasured comrades. Her words, spoken in a gentler tone than he’d ever suspected possible from her, had shattered his world.

He had fallen unconscious from the ensuing panic attack, with tremors racking his body and his nerves on edge for days afterwards.

Merlwyb had told him there were survivors, but his memory of that conversation had grown hazy. So, he decided to get his answers from Ul'dah instead, after which he would teach them what the wrath of a Kensei felt like. 

After that…

He hadn’t planned that far ahead. Could not. His steps were faltering and pained. Pathetic. Too much so for one called the sword saint. 

Truly, he had mocked that hallowed title enough with each blasphemous breath he took. 

But what did that matter any more? Unlike most of the other Scions, there wasn’t even a rumor of her survival. And in his heart, he already knew that he would not see her on this world again. 

He would walk into the caverns, he decided. And he would die there. He would find a spot that felt like Minfilia might have spent her last moments. And he would wait there for thirst and dust to end his own miserable life.

*


	7. Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mood has been a bit deflated, and Erika wants to clear her head.

A sullen mood had fallen over the group when Olivier finished his story. Thancred, Y'Shtola, Alphinaud, Urianger, and every one of the present Merry Suns were lost in their thoughts, plagued by their bitter memories of the hours and the days and the months following the Monetarist coup. So much had been lost, so much that could never be recovered again.

But worse was the horrified expression on Minfilia’s face. She seemed highly distressed by this last tale. She looked about at each of her guardians, finding them all too distracted. By her expression, she looked like she wanted to comfort them somehow. But words failed her and her eyes grew despondent.

Why had Olivier insisted on telling this story? Why hadn’t anyone stopped him.

Disquieted, Erika rose and walked to the fringes of the camp under the pretense of wanting to take a look around.

“I can see that it truly was dark days for you,” a voice came from her left. A figure with dark messy hair and black Fighter’s armor materialized where empty air had been a moment before. 

“The Crystal Braves were supposed to be a beacon of hope” Erika said softly. She hadn’t yet told her friends about her silent companion. “Independence, hope. I know that no organization remains clean forever, yet they were tainted almost from the very start. They betrayed us within a month of their formation. And Ilberd…” She trailed off with a snarl. 

“You looked up to him?”

“He was one of the leaders of the Ala Mhigan resistance. I’ve told you I was from Ala Mhigo, right? He smashed against Imperial forces time and again… and though his people lost most engagements, they always lost so few soldiers. In return, they always took a hundred Garleans down for every one of them they lost. He and Raubahn, they were like two gods of war on the battlefield. It took the Black Wolf—Gaius Baelsar himself—to finally crush their band. But even then they both escaped. Throughout his years as a sellsword, he always continued to speak for liberty. But even that noble goal was corrupted in the end. And my dearest friends paid dearly because of it.”

“Ryosen and Minfilia you mean?”

Erika’s head jerked up, and she laughed ruefully. “Them too I suppose. But no, I was speaking of a few of my Merry Suns. They were ambushed while on patrol in the hour before the coup, and interrogated before they were killed.”

“Oh.” Ardbert looked sad. “How many Merry Suns were there? Were you all such a close bunch?”

“Oh, no! At the height of our numbers there were thirty of us. Around the time we began hunting Primals and fighting the Garleans in earnest. At the start though, there were just six of us.”

“You, Desmond, Olivier, and E'Nisse among them?”

“Yes, no, no, no!” Erika laughed. “It was me and five of my childhood friends:Tobase Arabase, Marta Talbot, Willahem Ty, Romat Hamat, and Crimson Whale. Tobase was killed by an Ascian, but the rest of them were killed by Ilberd and his thug Yuyuhase.”

“And you knew them from childhood?”

“That’s right!” Erika sighed. “We formed the Merry Suns at age seven. We were refugees living in Little Ala Mhigo. Play at adventuring. We pretended to spy on suspicious merchants, slay dragons, turn back legions of Garleans. That sort of thing. And of course we took turns being Raubahn and Ilberd. When we came of age, we decided to do it all for real. The name which we had made up for playtime as children, we adopted as our band’s official name.”

“That sounds so sweet!”

“It was!” Erika grinned. “We had a lot of good times together. Until everything changed.” Her smile slipped off her face as she returned to her gloomy mood. “Tortured to death by their own hero so that they’d reveal our safehouses and shief contacts. No one could have seen that coming. Nothing good came of that day.”

Ardbert came to face her. “I’m sorry, Erika. I truly am.” She nodded.  
After a while he stirred and looked around. “I hate to say it, but you are wrong about no good coming of that day.”

“What?” she glared at him in furious shock.

“Sorry, it’s just… look around.” He gestured broadly at the land. “This world, what’s left of it… it persists because of Hydaelyn; and Minfilia. it may look desperate, sad, bleeding, sick… but it’s here. But for Minfilia’s heroic sacrifice that day—going back into certain death the way she did—Norvandtr would have been successfully Rejoined a century ago.”

“Huh. That is true,” Erika admitted. 

“Hey, I’m glad some wisdom came from staying around till I hit the nonagenarian range!”

“Aren’t you over a century old?” Erika asked.

“Yes, counting my time alive. But as a ghost, I’m a sprightly ninety-seven!”

Erika laughed again despite herself. He seemed pleased with himself. 

“And speaking of all not being as bad as it sounds,” Ardbert said as though something had just struck him. “I don’t think it was a bad thing necessarily, for Olivier to bring up that particular story.”

Erika arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because it is an important tie to the question of whether to bring Ryosen here. You cannot make that decision without taking such an important event into consideration.”

“Oh, I see!" 

"But in any case, it’s still a bad story to go to bed brooding over.” He smiled at her. “Why not head back over and tell another cute little tale?”

“An excellent idea!” Erika beamed. “I’ll do just that!”

*


	8. Clamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her chat with her favourite ghost, Erika bursts back into the camp intent on raising the mood, and she knows just the person to do it! (Y’shtola is an excellent stand-up comedian)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested viewing, Inspector Hildebrand Quests: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHoaVhcI-Ts&list=PLHvDMLVx54gqCLYG89md1-w4LS97rgMJp

Everyone jumped a malm when Erika burst back into the sullen camp. 

“We can’t go to bed like this, my friends!” she declared. “We need another story. A happier one.”

“Ehhh?” Y'Shtola said. “Oh, certainly… certainly you are right!”

“I’m so glad you agree Shtola!” Erika sat before the blind Miqo'te and took her hands. “It’s your turn. No one can light up a room like you can!”

“I appreciate the sentiment dear friend, but this is no room.”

“Shine all the brighter then!”

Y'Shtola sat with her mouth open in an “O” for a second, then grinned.

“Challenge accepted.”

She briefly pulled E'Nisse aside for a few minutes and gave her an earful of whispered instructions that left the Bard thoroughly amused and shaking with laughter

Once they returned to the circle, E'Nisse got busy. She pulled a spare blanket out of her tent, and laid it on the floor. She upon it placed a small assortment of dented and tarnished instruments; a violin, a harp, a hand drum, a rattle, and a flute. She quickly began tuning the instruments in a clamor of activity, but no one knew how or even why, for the longer she wound the strings the more discordant they sounded. After a few minutes of hurried work that most people would only describe as sabotage, the smaller Miqo'te turned her mismatched eyes to Y'Shtola and gave a “Heeheehee!” signalling she was ready.

All eyes were on Y'Shtola. “I have the right story for the task,” she smiled softly and choose the stump she had been sitting on as her center stage. She took on a truly silly pose, leaning forward and flexing her biceps in a hilarious Manderville flex as she declared the title. “The tale of the Antecedent, the Samurai, and the Gentleman Inspector Hildebrand!" 

E'nisse pulled the bow across the violin and it gave off a ridiculous but comical ‘ooooOOOOink’ punctuation.

The Scions were stunned silent for a few seconds before bursting into peals of delighted laughter, Minfilia looking around at them all, her child’s curiosity piqued.

*

Minfilia was absolutely delighted. Again and again she threw her head back and laughed until her ribs ached. She had never suspected the elegant Mystel— _no, Miqo'te!_ she reminded herself—was capable of this interesting stand-up-comedy style of storytelling. Y'Shtola was liberal with the hilarious expressions and exaggerated poses that this gentleman hero called Hildebrand had apparently been famous for. And each time her antics were perfectly punctuated by E'Nisse and her collection of battered instruments—which clearly kept for this specific type of comic use in mind.

The group turned in for the night after the brilliant performance. She thought she saw Desmond fondly kiss Y'Shtola’s neck, but she had to be imagining that! She went to bed dreaming of these dapper zombies saying things like "A gentleman is rather than does!” or “You are neither dapper nor a zombie!” while posing in perfect 'Manderville flexes’ and 'Hildebrand entries’. She dreamed of an excited inspector and his excitable assistant dashing off before their interviewees had had the chance to tell them the name and whereabouts of a certain case’s witnesses. She dreamed of a Miqo'te girl tossing large self-igniting fireworks with an expression of innocent joy on her face, and how the gentleman Hildebrand’s expressions fell into comical 'O’s and 'oops'es. And through it all, she dreamed of a svelte blonde woman and towering Samurai roaring so hard with laughter that they kept reaching to nearby rocks and tree-stumps and fences for support.

Minfilia had been so happy once before, she realized. And she had shared the happiest of those moments with Ryosen-san!

*


	9. Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ALERT! Story time is over, and everyone is going to bed now. Olivier, Azure Dragon of Ishgard, remembers one of his last nights with his lover Lucia (friends, mutuals, and followers will be absolutely unsurprised about why I chose this romance)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: This chapter is NSFW

Olivier Dereyne lay wide in his bedroll. 

He should have taken first watch, for he couldn’t sleep. 

All this talk of romance had stirred up his own lovesick heart. He yearned for his lover, the Second-in-Command of the Temple Knights, Lucia Junius. They had each been drawn to the other by their mutual love of duty above all. He had been one of the first to see through the work face of the ‘Taciturn Knight’ as the Merry Suns had referred to her before being properly introduced. 

He had seen an orphaned woman seeking a home. She had seen an orphaned man seeking safety. It had begun with smiles and warm but truncated pleasantries, then elevated quickly to a string of dalliances stolen midst the neverending bustle of life in a Military Order.

After years of tiptoeing around the dusty corridors to keep their trysts secret, they had finally confessed their relationship to a few highly amused superiors including Aymeric and Alberic Bale.

Things had come out more in the open then, though both Olivier and Lucia had still chosen a healthy dose of discretion. For Lucia especially liked to keep different faces on for different occasions; one for her work as Aymeric Borel’s First Officer, one for her friends and neighbors, one for the privacy of her spartan home, and finally the one he treasured most: the lover’s face she reserved specially for him.

Every time he saw her lush lips break into a delighted smile, his heart always threatened to pounce into her waiting arms before the rest of him could.  
Sadly, a day had come when they had to make a choice; their duty, or their relationship. But the day of their parting hadn’t been one of sorrow, but hope.

And he was glad for the Echo’s ability to relive his memories sometimes.

They stood entwined in an alcove in the Temple garden, kissing desperately, threatening to topple over a nearby potted plant as they wrestled in close embrace. 

“Ooops!” she giggled, deftly catching the pot before it fell and righting it.

“Perhaps we should take this to your quarters?” Olivier suggested. “Or mine?" 

"Oh?” her lips curved into a seductive smile. “What’s wrong with the garden? We’ve made good use of them before. And we weren’t even the first to do so.”

“True, true,” Olivier chuckled. “But if this night is to be our last for some time, I would rather we could be a little louder. And less… armored.”

Lucia laughed coquettishly. “Want my armor off, do you? Well, I feel a crazy desire to have it torn off me, tonight anyway!”

Hand in hand, she had led him back to her small room in the barracks. It was the wee hours of a particularly long night. There had been no rest for either lover, nor their direct superiors. The night had past in an avalanche of paperwork and notices. Aside from the few night patrols, they met no one, but Olivier was certain they’d set the rumor mills to work overtime with how relatively open they were being with their affections tonight.  
They slipped into her room as quietly as they could and she bolted the door behind them before turning to him expectantly. 

“Now where were we?”  
He needed no further prompting; his mouth immediately homed in on her lush lips as they resumed their earlier kiss with even greater ardor than before. She slipped out of her armor and let it fall noisily as he led her to her bed. He tripped over his feet and landed ungracefully on the mattress, and she fell upon him; ripping off his shirt and nipping gently at his neck and nipples. She completely stripped him down in seconds, but he took his time peeling off her clothes to reveal her lush naked body in all its glory.

He took in the magnificent vision for as long as his hungry body would let him before moving one hand to her breast and the other to her waist, pulling her slowly.

“I love you, Lucia!”

“Then stop wasting time and take me you damned fool!” she answered angrily. He dived right in, and they became a cacophony of moans and gasps as they made love in earnest. They had slept together before of course, but today it felt like some entirely new level. They rode each other ragged like it might be their last time together before collapsing into each others arms. For it very well might be.

Following the final conclusion to the Dragonsong War, the Azure Dragoon had been endowed with a new Calling: to help slay the new Primal Shinryuu, born of the Eyes of Nidhogg. Further, to investigate the masked beings known as Ascians, and their involvement with Nidhogg, Bahamut, Dravania, and Ishgard. On a personal note, he also wanted to repay the Merry Suns for all they had done for his homeland.

But that meant leaving Ishgard, perhaps for years. He might never return. She might not be here upon his return. And there was always a chance of things being completely different even were they to be both alive.

“My place is with Ser Aymeric,” Lucia said, her face scrunched up from rare emotion. “I cannot leave his side, even to be at yours.”

“I know,” Olivier had wept. “Oh how I know! And I cannot let this go either.”  
“I wish Hydaelyn—and the Eye—had chosen… someone else,” Lucia whispered. “Someone whose presence I would not so sorely miss.”

“Even though I leave, a portion of me shall remain,” he vowed. “No matter how far I go, no matter how many continents or entire worlds separate us, my heart shall always be here, with you.”

“And should I have to wait for all the sands in the entire world line the bottom of an hourglass, trickling through only the thinnest of necks before I see you again, I will wait gladly to be with you again. My heart is yours too.”

After a few moments in silence, Olivier noticed that sunrise was perhaps fifteen minutes away.

“Can we get dressed? There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you for some months now.”

“Hmmm?”

“See Ishgard as only a dragon can!”

There were more soldiers milling about now, and many stared at them as they emerged from her quarters, but the couple ignore them, and made straight for the exit. A hop, a skip, and a few Leaps later, he had Jumped up onto one of the High Spires with a highly excited Lucia gathered up in his arms. The Spire was usually unoccupied as it was meant for an Azure Dragoon, and since the end of the War fewer Dragoons were on patrol, making the spires an isolated spot for the first time in centuries. 

They greeted the sunrise from atop their eyrie, watched as the rising sun’s rays chased away the darkness over the snow-covered slopes of Coerthas; the crystal columns of the Wound and Mor Dhona lighting up like fiery pillars; the sparkling waters and canopies of Gridania; the steppes of Thanalan; the floating islands of Azys La; and even the distant coastline of Eorzea, and Olivier reveled in finally being able to share this magnificent sight with his beloved. 

“WOOOOOHOOOOO!” Lucia screamed into the wind, pumping a gauntleted fist into the air. “THIS IS THE GREATEST SIGHT EVER! REMARKABLE! AND YOU TOOK THIS LONG TO SHARE THIS WITH ME?”

“I TRIED, BUT YOU KEPT SAYING YOU WERE BUSY!”

“EXCUSES, EXCUSES!” she fiercely pecked his cheek, her thrill evident in her glittering eyes; and a warm flush spread across his face from the spot her lips had marked him.

“KIA!” he screamed over the shrill winds. “I LOVE YOU!”

Smiling face pink—probably from the cold and not a blush—she leaned into his chest and shouted back. “AND I LOVE YOU, YOU DAMNED IDIOT DRAGOON!”

*


	10. Avail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond and Y’shtola talk as they wait for sleep to take them.

Fitful chuckles kept returning to Y'Shtola and driving off sleep, the refreshed memory of Hildebrand playing and replaying without pause in her mind. 

“Can’t sleep?” Desmond asked, kissing the top of her head and stroking her cheek.

“Ara, you too?”

“Well, your ear twitches when you laugh, and it keeps tickling my chin. Not that I’m complaining though. Much rather stay awake with you here. I was so worried for you, back in the Source. You looked like… I didn’t know if you’d ever wake.” His voice cracked a little and she reached up to kiss the hollow of his throat. “We still haven’t talked about what it was like for you.”

“Well… I’d rather save the full talk in for when we’ve more privacy. Short version though? I was away from home, and from you for five years. The thoughts of something bad happening never stopped troubling me. And there were times I despaired that a hundred years would pass here ere the Exarch managed to bring you here.”

“But it wasn’t me whom the Exarch wanted, was it? It was Erika.”

“Erika is the stronger frontliner, but in your favored arena you are second to none. Not even Yuugiri or Karasu or any of the Shinobi. Not to mention how much more cross with him I’d have been. He would have been a fool to discount you.”

He was silent. His emotions were so cloudy she could not make them out at the moment. She wished she could still see. She missed the sight of his face, his smile, his mismatched eyes, and his wavy hair, and his dispensing of his masks to display expressions unhidden in her proximity: all things her improvised sight could not make out. She ran a finger over his face, trying to guess his emotions by its contours but to no avail. He gently licked a finger as it lingered on his lips and she giggled.

“I love you, Y'Shtola Rhul!”

She sighed and snuggled into his chest again, allowing the sound of his heartbeat to remind herself once again that he really was here, with her. The rhythm was hypnotic, and finally cooed thoughts of sleep back to her mind.

“Mmmm… and I love you, Dez Holmes!”


	11. Ultracrepidarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alisaie is sad that no one wanted to hear her smutty story.

Alisaie’s bad mood lasted late into the night. Unfortunately for her twin, her bad moods made her prone to irritated muttering.

“Calm down, Alisaie,” Alphinaud patted her head. “You could hardly tell one of your type of stories in that environment!”

“But no one stopped Olivier from telling his story!”

“Strange it may be, yet telling tales of violence and sorrow are less frowned upon than smut.”

“But I just wanted to tell the story Lyse told me!” Alisaie complained. 

“You can tell me!” Alphinaud sat up straight. “I’ll listen!”

Alisaie looked at him with her usual mix of fondness and exasperation. “I wanted to tell it at the campfire, where everyone was in the mood for it! Everyone had a story to tell—”

“Not everyone. Urianger did not share. Nor did Desmond or Erika. Certainly not me!”

“But what right had I to speak there anyway?” Alisaie mumbled dejectedly. “I didn’t know Minfilia. I barely know Ryosen either.”

“Tales are not meant to be told merely by those who had witnessed events firsthand,” Alphinaud said comfortingly. “They are inherited by those in whose hearts they resonate! They are meant to be told, again and again, until they become as timeless and immortal as the gods themselves! So come now, Sister. Tell me your tale. Let it fill up your heart!”

Alisaie sighed. “Oh fine. But you asked for it!”


	12. Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Eorzea, the Imperial XXIII Legion has been utterly defeated by a small ad hoc force of Steppe and Doman warriors

It was hot as an oven in the Burn, but Legatus Gnaeus Van Crixos could see a film of frost covering the nearest corpses, a sheen that did not let under the heat. Adding to the sense of dislocation was the cloud of some flowery smell hanging over the battlefield, masking the smell of blood and gore. The reflection of the moon shimmered in the air like a mirage, though it was the late afternoon. Here and there, conical furrows marked their way through the baked soul like some clawed hand had carved their mark on it.

It had been a crushing defeat for the Ever Glorious Empire. The Emperor’s withdrawal following the unrest back home had left the war effort in the hands of Crown Prince Zenos and his newly reformed XIII Legion. The odds should still have been heavily in their Empire’s favor, but he and his XXIII had fought against a savage push by tribal forces of the Azim Steppe, backed up by a small contingent of swordsmen from Doma. 

The demon leading the Doman contingent had fought with—of all things—a wooden blade, but the wood had cleaved through reinforced steel of magitek armor like it was a hot knife through butter. While all of the tall, horned devilkin called Au Ra had been dangerous, this stick-wielding Samurai had dived into formations of Hoplonmachi and Vanguards alone and chewed them apart like a wolf among chickens.

The push by the combined Doman-Steppe forces had been so heavy that Prince Zenos himself had led reinforcements; only for the incoming troops to be scattered when the demon samurai faced him in single combat—and beaten him. His soldiers had lost heart and run, and Gnaeus couldn’t really blame them. The Crown Prince was the deadliest warrior the Homeland had to offer. This was partly a combination of drugs, magitek augments, and cutting-edge modifications, but the truth was that Zenos was a great warrior even without these advantages. But counting those additional strengths he was invincible, or so had been the belief of every son and daughter of the Homeland.  
Today, the Prince had fought tooth and nail and still been beaten. Bleeding and bested, he would have died then and there had he not dived into some portal and escaped that demon’s wrath. He had survived the day, but his myth of invincibility had not. Thousands had seen him fall, thousands had seen him run with his tail between his legs.

Seeing their reinforcements—an entire Legion—turn tail and run, the few survivors of the XXIII had surrendered. The armies of the Steppes had not been pleased, damned savage heathens! But thank goodness, they had readily accepted the surrender without their officers—or what passed for them—having to enforce discipline.

There were several of them there. Officers. War Leaders. Battle Masters. Whatever titles these backward barbarians used. A massive brown-skinned specimen with black sclera and horns, and all the arrogance which only a scion of the Imperial House should possess. A blue-black skinned woman with white hair who rained fiery death upon her enemies stood a short ways off, eyes observing the prisoners’ every move. And of course, the Samurai who had nearly killed Zenos.

If they could rout two legions in the field, what was to stop them marching on the heart of Garlemald itself? Was their glorious conquest at an end?

“I heard rumors,” Fulvia Sas Quintus whispered. “That the Crown Prince died in the battle of Ala Mhigo, and his body is possessed by a ghost.”

“Keep your baseless market gossip to yourself, Tribunus!” Crixos hissed.

“Hear me out!” she insisted. “I have fought beside the Prince before. Never have I known him to flee. He is the most courageous man I have ever seen. He would rather die fighting than flee.”

“What is the point of this?” he demanded.

“Just… the real Prince Zenos would not have lost to this savage.”

Crixos considered that. It was true that the Prince loved fighting above all else. It was also true that many had found his newfound dedication to Imperial authority surprising. “Perhaps there is something to the rumor,” he admitted. 

The Dark Skinned nomad looked over at them and grinned mockingly but did not say anything. 

Presently, a cloud of dust appeared in the distance and a small group of soldiers arrived on chocobos, bearing flags belonging to the different nations in the Eorzean Alliance. 

“What news?” the Samurai asked.

“The Garleans have fled the field,” a messenger said. “The day is ours!”  
Her message was greeted by a war chant by the nomads, and a more mundane cheer by the Domans.

“Anything else?” the tall brown savage with the arrogant demeanor asked from behind the Samurai.

“Aye, there’s one other thing,” a cowled man emerged from the midst of the messenger’s escort. “You Ryosen?”

“You already know me, Master Weaponsmith!” the Samurai answered aloofly.

“Right, right, whatever. I’ve got what you requested.” the ‘Master’ smith pulled out a bundle from his saddlebags and tossed it to the Samurai, who snatched it out of midair with ease. He unwrapped the bundle to find a katana sheathed in a beautifully decorated scabbard. He drew it from its sheath in a swift motion and held it to the heavens, observing the way the light glinted off the edge. Then he struck, attacking the pile of Magitek armor and discarded weapons before him. The targets were sliced and diced like a salad. The sword radiated with a calm but deadly purpose, readily accepting the Samurai’s talent like a sponge. Legatus Gnaeus swallowed the lump in his throat. WIth a true blade in his hand, this monster might even be a match for the true Zenos.

“It’s a good blade,” the Samurai bowed reverently to the smith. “Far better suited to the war I must fight.”

“I call it the Kiku-Ichimonji,” the weaponsmith grumbled. “To be honest, I was surprised you said you were taking up a sword again. Are you really concerned about the Garleans that much?”

The Samurai shrugged. “I have heard… summons,” he whispered. “My sword arm is needed, and anything less than ironclad resolve will be disastrous.”  
Gnaeus tried not to groan. Garlemald was doomed.

*


	13. Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quick nothingburger while I coped with some mental health issues. Had to keep the ball rolling.

Ran'jith sat in his tent in Amh Araeng. Patience. Calm. There was no need to seek out their hiding place. Not when he knew precisely what their next objective was. The fools would be here soon—at the Fields of Amber—and with a little luck, the group would be too small to hold him off while retreating this time.

A noise in the distance caught his attention; he squinted in its direction. 

Oho? They were here already! And on such a novel mode of transportation too. It was time to show them the meaning of despair.


	14. Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Eorzean Alliance meet following their crushing victory in the Burn

The Leaders of the Eorzean Alliance congregated in the large command tent.

“Cheers!” Raubahn held up a mug of ale when at last all were present. “To a great victory!”

“Cheers!” Cried the others in response. Lyse took a deep draught and coughed, while Hien, Aymeric, and Kan-E-Senna took polite, measured sips before placing their small cups back down. Merlwyb emptied her mug in one go, Raubahn finishing shortly after.

“I must confess my friends, that I did not expect so thorough a victory today.”

“Initial reports put our casualties at a hundred and seven,” Lucia Junius reported softly. “And two thousand wounded. Garlemald lost over ten thousand dead—most of them during the rout—with another two hundred thousand taken prisoners. Most of these are from the Immortal Flames in the center, but all fronts did very well today. Of particular note was the small holding force left to guard the entry from the northwest, composed of elite warriors of the Steppe and Doma. The entire XXIII Legion has ceased to exist thanks to their unrelenting pressure, including their Legatus.”

“Your decision to ally with the nomads looks wiser with each engagement!” Lyse exclaimed.

“Ah yes, I saw the potential in them,” Hien answered. “But no one could have predicted what a powerful force they would be when roused.”

“Ryosen-sama was at that battlefield,” Yuugiri said. “He nearly killed Zen-I mean Elidibus-himself when the XII came to reinforce them. The Ascian managed to withdraw through a portal, and both Legions either fled or surrendered.”

“Emperor Varys had already withdrawn to combat the unrest back home,” Flame Marshall Pipin said. “With Zenos gone as well, it will shift the balance of power immeasurably in our favor. The Garleans no longer have men and women of the caliber as Gaius Van Baelsar.”

“Do not make the mistake of thinking we have them on the run,” Lucia cautioned. “Do not forget that Magitek and mad experiments inspired by Allagan feats form the backbone of their fighting capability. And they have the industry to churn out whatever twisted monstrosities are spawned in their Research initiatives.”

“Indeed, we do not need another Meteor,” Raubahn acknowledged. “But for now, we have the upper hand. And Ser Lucia has pointed out the obvious strength and Achilles heel of the Empire—their industry. Factories cannot make machines if they are starved of ore and ceruleum, nor can their scientists research Allagan superweapons if we seize as many archives and fortresses as we can find, and drive them out.”

“And destroy all their work,” Lyse added. “Nothing good ever seems to come from those research initiatives.”

“This is a big initiative,” Aymeric gestured with his goblet. “Committing to it will leave us exposed, perhaps for too long a period. If we fail, the Empire will have the chance to take back the gains we have made.”

“But it might be our best bet of neutralizing a large part of their combat advantage,” Merlwyb countered. “If it’s risky, then it’s risky, and we must send in our best to ensure success.”

“And speaking of our best,” Hien said. “Welcome, Ryosen! Welcome. You are just in time. We were discussing our next move.”

“I see you bear real steel again,” Yuugiri noted. “Does this mean you are fully committed to this war?”

Ryosen said nothing. Although he tried to hide it, a spasm of pain washed over his face.

“Are you well?” Aymeric asked, standing suddenly. “Were you injured?”

“Tis the price of abandoning my oaths, Ser Aymeric!” Ryosen said. “Yes, I bear steel now. I know not why but this past week I have had… visions. I am needed. And I cannot allow my shame to become a liability anymore.”

A chime sounded, a Linkshell call on an emergency channel. It appeared to be from Tataru Taru, the excitable secretary of the Scions.


	15. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryosen, the greatest sword of the Source, copes with curses and heartache

Ryosen tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but it was proving difficult. He felt the ghosts of the many wounds he had dealt to others today return to haunt his own body. All across his chest, his face, his back, and his limbs, he felt them like a white-hot brand. When today’s foes healed, so would their ghost twins. If they died, especially of the injuries he had caused, then they would become dull aches that haunted him the rest of his life. During the early days, on Doma, he had managed to fight almost defensively, keeping his enemies’ wounds—and therefore the reflections on his own body—to a minimum. Back then, victory lay in screening the retreat of his people, not in vanquishing his foes.

Even so, he had spent each night feeling a few new echoes everyday.  
But these days… these days it was like his entire body was being pressed on all sides by smoking hot irons.And always, always, he felt the dull ache in his heart. 

_Minfilia_ , he wept silently. _Oh Minfilia!_

He had not been there for her or her comrades in their hour of most dire need. After all they had done for him. all they had given him and his, he had been away. If he had been there that day. If only he had… 

Invisible bands tightened all over his body as he remembered the terrible avatar of vengeance he had become, how he had butchered the traitor Ilberd and left him in a dozen small pieces weeping on the floor.

Avenging Minfilia had felt good, but protecting her—and the rest of the Scions—would have been infinitely more preferable.

And now the land was steeped in all-out war. A world war, with every territory annexed by the evil Garlean Empire rising up in revolt. But even that paled in comparison to the news Tataru had brought in.

“Emergency!” she screamed agitatedly. She had not even waited to greet any of the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance. Hopping from foot to foot and wringing her arms so hard Ryosen had been afraid they would pop out of their little sockets. “Word from Estinien! He and Gaius Baelsar reached the Imperial capital, hoping to put a stop to the poison gas manufacturing right at the source, but they arrived in time to witness Elidib—I mean Zenos, he’s still alive and back in his body—kill Emperor Varys! The Emperor is dead, and it’s civil war!”

This was both really good and really bad. The Empire was once again leaderless. Zenos seemed disinclined to take control for whatever reason. That meant every distant cousin and their chocobo had now declared their intent for the Imperial Throne.

The more strength they wasted on each other, the less they had to dedicate to the Eorzean war. Or anywhere, really. Raubahn’s idea of raiding the Ceruleum refineries and oil wells, their factories and labs, their archives and mines suddenly seemed much more doable.

What did that mean for him? Would he be compelled to participate in these high-risk raids? Perhaps it might fall to him instead to seek out Zenos, and put an end to the deadliest of the Garlean warriors.

Ryosen found himself looking forward to it. He didn’t know how much longer he would last until his body finally buckled and splintered under the curse, and he wanted his brief participation in the war to bring as much victory for his people and their allies as possible. 

Nothing—nothing—could be more gamechanging than dealing with Zenos.

Well, perhaps not nothing. If he could serve Minfilia again, even once, then all of the pain and suffering he would have to endure would be worth it. 

If he could serve Minfilia or the Scions one last time before the pain took his mobility, he would die a happy man.


	16. Lucubration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Thancred’s near-Pyrrhic victory in Amh Areng, Minfilia the Younger—now called Ryne—brings up the topic of summoning reinforcements again.

“Are we really having this discussion again?” Y'Shtola asked. “I thought we had agreed that it was too dangerous for Ryosen. Not to mention cruel.”

“Thancred nearly died!” Minfilia the Younger—now renamed Ryne—cried. “He almost died buying us a few minutes’ audience with Minfilia-san! The next time we meet Ran'jit, he will not hold back. And I’m sorry, but none of us—not even all of us—can face him and live. We cannot die here. If we do, everything, everybody’s struggle for the entire past century, was for nothing! Worse, you all cannot die here. The Scions, Erika, Olivier. Desmond. You must return to the Source.”

Y'Shtola faltered. There was some truth in that. The Warriors of Light, at least, needed to return home alive. Their fight would be far from over even if they banished the primordial light was banished.

“Perhaps now you understand what the weight of history feels like?” Emet-Selch asked from outside the circle. Like the people of the First, like the Scions, like your former Antecedent, but multiply it by a hundred and you will know how we have toiled. We have been working towards our goal for so many millennia now. We cannot afford to fail, no more than you can.“

"Our toils are a result of yours,” Y'Shtola grated. “Your labors result in the destruction of countless lives, entire worlds!”

“All shall be remade whole once Zodiark is summoned again.” Emet Selch responded nonchalantly. 

“How do you know that?” Ryne asked. 

“Answering that question would require a hundred years of lucubration from you.”

“What does lubrication have to do with it?” Alisaie demanded suspiciously, standing directly in front of Emet Selch and planting her fists on her narrow hips.  
In response, the Ascian simply laughed. Not everyone was as readily intimidated by the hothead Elezen.“I thought you were a scholar, child? Not ‘lubrication’, but 'lucubration’. Intense study. The answer you demand requires you to understand subjects that have not been taught since my world was shattered. Suffice it to say, this is no idle fancy. I guarantee it: Zodiark can restore all as it once was.”

“I noticed you used 'can’,“ E'Nisse noted. "So the question that follows: will he?" 

Emet Selch’s answer was a melancholic shrug. 

"We can argue with Emet Selch later,” Erika said, dismissing the ornately-clad former Emperor. “We need to settle the question about Ryosen once and for all. I still think it’s a bad idea”

“Well, Minfilia did not!” Ryne declared and stiffened as all eyes fixed upon her. “In the empty, when I sought to commune with Minfilia, I asked her about Ran'jit, and how to defeat him. Her only response was that it would do Ryosen good if he were to aid me.”

“Elidibus spoke of him,” Emet Selch commented. He stretched leisurely before crossing his legs and sitting back on his chair. “An interesting tool. So sharp, so deadly when used against the right opponent. Yet ultimately, no threat to an Ascian’s life, although quite capable of slowing us down. Definitely not to be thrown at a Lightwarden.”

“The opponent we would have him face is no Lightwarden,” Ryne said. “But a fellow mortal. Ran'jit.”

“Ah, him, yes!” Emet Selch stroked his chin. “As to that, who knows? The only certainty in life is death, after all. Unless you’re an Ascian. Or a Primal.”

“Or a ghost,” Ardbert remarked quietly, to which Erika snorted softly. And perhaps she was imagining it, but so too did Emet Selch. How much did he and his ilk know, she asked herself.


	17. Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minfilia let Ryne in on a little secret (aka I was having trouble again)

Ryne closes her eyes. There are things she will not tell the others, the precious secret that Minfilia shared with her and her alone; which she saw fit to conceal from Erika and Desmond.

Even as Minfilia faded, even as her thoughts and memories and hopes and indeed her very soul began to lose cohesion, a single thought dominated her being; a thought that Minfilia bestowed upon the little girl with her heart overflowing with emotion.

“My child. My heir. My daughter. Our daughter. I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you…”

And even as her voice faded away into silence, her words remained behind.  
Mother… goodbye.

_Father… I will see you soon._


	18. Panglossian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crystal Exarch is nothing if not optimistic. Anything less would have meant being utterly defeated by his burden decades ago after all!

They stood in the heart of the Crystal Tower. Ryne was talking to the Crystal Exarch, explaining her request for reinforcements from the Source. And the enigmatic Leader of the Crystarium was taking the idea quite well. If they could see his eyes underneath that shrouded veil, Erika was certain that they would be shining like a thousand sparkling stars.

“Can you do it?” Ryne asked. “Can you bring Ryosen over here completely, the way you brought Desmond, E'Nisse, and Erika?”

“Of course I can!” he answered. “The trick is in bringing him here, directly within the city. But this time I know I can do it!” He turned to E'Nisse. “But just to be extra sure, can you take a beacon to him?”

E'nisse consented with a serene nod, and the Exarch continued speaking, half to himself. 

“This Ryosen… strange as may sound, I’ve not heard of him before. He must be a warrior of remarkable stature if you are all so certain he can succeed where you can not!”

“Indeed he is,” E'nisse replied. “And tis not such a strange thing; for the rare bearers of his title of ‘Kensei’ are famous in the Far East, but never heard of in Eorzea or even the Empire.”

“Well, it will be heard of in all corners of Norvrandt before long!” the Exarch declared. From his collection of books, he picked out one at random and handed it to E'nisse. “Here. Give this to him. As one of the first of my acquisitions, it holds great meaning to me; if he were to hold it, I can catch him and reel him in to within yalms of where I stand.”

E'nisse squinted at the book. “Daglous Adaham’s 'The Panglossian’s Guide to the Stars’?” she asked, corners of her mouth curling. “Apt title! I approve”


	19. Where the Heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E’nisse has returned to the Source to fetch Ryosen

Ryosen did not react as E'nisse had expected. 

As she walked through the story of their travels, the sorrow on his face grew—which was expected—but so too did growing unease, like as though he had made a serious error in judgement. When she was done, his face was a mask of horror.

When he did not speak, she prompted him, “What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer her, but his grip on his sword grew harder. A sword? Since when had he started wearing a sword again, and why? Unless—Oh!

Suddenly, the harder grimaces made sense. “You’ve joined the war effort.“ 

He nodded mutely, wincing as the pain clutched at him again. "I cannot break my word. Not again.”

And with that one sentence, she understood the situation completely.

“I am surprised you took up the sword again.”

“I… I was having a recurring vision,” he said slowly. “Some formless horror was bearing down upon Minfilia, brandishing a heavy blade in each of its many arms. And no matter how hard I fought, there was always one more arm threatening to slay her. In the end, even empowered by my spirit, the wooden sword splintered. A wooden sword is just as good as steel for killing people, but only a true sword is the soul of a samurai. Only with real steel can the full power of my techniques be unleashed.”

In a fluid motion that would put dancers to shame, he stood and drew the sword from its sheath. In a blur, he executed a full kata. It was so beautiful that E'nisse’s eyes filled with tears, and she applauded numbly. Claps echoed as other customers of the tavern in Revenant’s toll applauded with her.  
Erika would have been able to name it, E'nisse was sure. Provided she could follow his movements. After having seen him in action, Erika had tried and failed to master the Way of the Samurai. Desmond had failed too. 

Kata ended, he held the sword before his eyes for a few seconds and sheathed it again.

“Do you know why I had never picked up steel again until now?”

The Miqo'te bard nodded. “You were ashamed of having sold your sword.”

“Yes… and no. You see, what I was ashamed of was how I had forsaken everything what it meant to be Kensei. I had spilled blood, partaken in war, abandoned the Temple of Bishamonten, and then sold my sword. Just as bad was how I didn’t regret it. No, the only regret I had was that I should have made that decision sooner.“

"I’m sorry,” she said, patting his arm gently.

“That is why when I started having these dreams I realized that my shame was as bad as my oaths had been. I asked Gerolt to forge me a new sword. I committed to this renewed war. And I have already killed dozens of men and women. I thought my vision meant that I was supposed to fight for Eorzea. I made a vow, and I do not do so lightly anymore.” He turned his aghast expression upon her. “And now you are telling me that it might have been literal; that I had been called to defend Minfilia herself and not the land she loved? That I might have to ignore that commitment—break yet another oath… it hurts, E'nisse!”

She could not bring herself to answer immediately. “This isn’t a separate war, Ryosen. This is the same war, just on a different front. We cannot allow the First to fall to the Light. It’s still the fight for Minfilia’s dream.”

He shivered. “That dream is where my heart is. I will contact the Eorzean Leaders. How much can I tell them?”

“Leave that to me,” E'nisse pressed the book into his hands. “This will allow the Exarch to summon you directly to the Crystarium. Keep it.”

“What about you?”

“I have forged a connection to the First, and can travel at will between worlds with this,” she held up a small part of a machine, the talisman the Exarch had used to pull her safely through. Feo Ul?“ she called. There was no response, but she knew the pixie was listening. "Your dear, sweet little sapling requests you tell the Exarch that Ryosen is ready, and that he should begin the summons in five minutes.”


	20. Hypocrisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryosen zooms through the space between worlds

The field of stars and memories that Ryosen passed through while making the journey to Norvrandt allowed him to reflect upon his life. All the hours of training, all the sword pilgrimages, all the hundreds of opponents he had beaten in ritual, bloodless duels. He had become one of the greatest swordsmen of his age. And ‘Saint’ they had hailed him for it. 

He snorted. What saint? He had betrayed Bishamonten at every turn.

“Yes, thou did…” a voice like a hundred clashing weapons boomed through his head. “Or was I the one to betray thou?”

Ryosen was stunned. He knew exactly whose voice that was, and hadn’t expected to hear it again. “Bishamonten-sama?”

“Do not act so surprised. Here I have always been, watching. But now thou go to a place beyond mine reach.”

“But I abandoned you.”

“Thou abandoned my temple, but tis not as simple a task to escape me. Not until today, at any rate.”

“Disappointed?”

“Yes, but not in thee.” The kami seemed to make a sound similar to a melancholic sigh. “Tis this world, this prison that we call home. Tis a place that mocks ideals. What place does our Way have in a world where peace equals inaction, where staying thy blade means that thousands are killed like flies? Like thou told that Bard, thy only mistake was in hesitating too long. The oath, not thou, was the problem all along.”

If Ryosen was stunned before, he now felt like he’d been doused in ice. “You… agree with me?”

“Yes, I do. I admit I was angry at first, but in time as I watched the lives thy actions saved, I realized that thou had done the right thing. War does not stop just because we close our eyes and turn away, the atrocities pile up just the same. I knew exactly what thou were. All those years as thou trained, thou opened thyself to me ever more with each swing of your bokken. I knew that thou valued the sanctity of not just the Art, but of life itself. Should I not have accepted, then, that thou wouldst not be able to turn thine eyes from thine people’s plight? Though the title of Kensei thou did rightfully deserve, relaxed should have been the restrictions and oaths I placed on thou, to match the desperate times. AlasI remained inflexible, and thou gave thy word. Alas the curse thou has to bear, for a sin that is just as much mine as thine.”

“I’ve gone and broken another oath,” he said. “Are you displeased?”

“Are thou?”

“Only that I gave my word in haste yet again.”

The Kami laughed. “And now you go to fight on another world. I am unsure whether the curse will hold there. It may be that this was your destiny all along, to fight in the First. For this woman you came to love, this Minfilia.”

“And her legacy.”

“Try not to add to your regrets, Kensei. No matter what happens, do not betray yourself again. Thou can escape me, it seems, but no matter which world thou travels to, thou cannot escape thyself.”


	21. Foible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryosen reunites with his friends

Ryosen arrived in a flash of white light so sudden that Ryne screamed and fell over. It was her first time seeing this done in person, she tried comforting herself. But a voice in the back of her head reminded her that none of the Scions had borne witness to it either—their perspective was of coming through the door, not seeing it opened before them.

Well, they’re older! she told herself firmly. More experienced, less likely to be thrown off-guard.

Urianger patted her head and gave her a reassuring smile, but the others greeted the newcomer.

When she stood back up and looked at him more closely, she was quite intimidated.

Even for a Drahn he was tall, with a beautiful pair of curved horns. His skin was the color of cinnamon brandy, and his jet black hair was tinged with bright red. His tail was the average length for Drahns, and while muscled, his body did not have the bulk some larger males boasted. 

His right eye had a bright blue umbral ring but his unringed left was ruby red.

There was a steady light about them, very different from the Scions or the Merry Suns. 

And then there were his movements. Polished and lithe, noiseless as if he were light as a summer breeze, and possessed of a grace worthy of a dancer.  
As for his clothes; he wore a knee-length green surcoat over a set of burnished black chain mail, fastened at the waist by a belt. And at that belt, on his hip, was a beautiful, decorated black scabbard in which was unmistakably—

“Is that a real sword?” Ryne gasped. “I thought you didn’t carry one any more—”

She trailed off and turned a furious pink when all gazes, surprised, turned to her.

“Blimey, I didn’t even notice!” Desmond said.

“Me neither!” Erika exclaimed.

“Why hast thou taken up live steel again, my friend?” Urianger asked. “I thought you had said thou wouldst abstain from carrying any blade after having given up Thunderstrike.”

“I commissioned it in response to a vision,” Ryosen said. “Gerolt called it the Kiku-Ichimonji.”

He unsheathed it and held it straight up for the others to see. Ryne could not help but sigh in admiration. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. So beautiful, in fact, the thought of seeing it used made her want to weep.  
It had a large disc-shaped guard with a swirl pattern, and the half of the blade from the hilt up was decorated by golden runes and inscriptions. But it was the unadorned foible that caught the ambient light, enshrouding the blade in a spectacular rainbow case.

He flourished the sword—the katana—and sheathed it. 

“I thought it would be my duty to expel the Ascian possessing Zenos’ body, but clearly, it was here that my road was meant to lead me. But before we talk of anything else, I had some news for Olivier.”

He turned to the Dragoon. “Congratulations, Azure Dragon. Lucia sent me a message to relay to you when she heard I was leaving. She’s five weeks pregnant. You’re going to be a father!”


	22. Argy-bargy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryosen and Emet Selch do not like each other.

“In short, Zenos chased Lahabrea out of his real body and reclaimed it. The first thing he did upon achieving this is the murder of his own Father, Emperor Varis. There is now no one in the upper echelons of Garlemald who is even interested in the war. In short, it seems like the time has never been more perfect to break Garlean might for good.”

“Which means that some within their ranks would feel pressed into upping the production of Black Rose!” Alphinaud whispered. His face looked like spoiled milk. “The Eighth Umbral Calamity… It is approaching a critical juncture.”

“According to Estinien, Zenos killed Varis in retaliation for the Black Rose,” Ryosen addressed his concern. “He does not want such cowardly actions interfering with his ‘hunt’. He may not be trying to take over, but he will crush any who spoil his sport. In addition, he and Gaius Baelsar continue to destroy every lab and cache of the poison that comes to their attention.”

“It is not like Elidibus to lose control,” Emet Selch mused. “Perhaps my time is better spent correcting the consequences of his missteps.”

“Perhaps he’s losing his touch?” Ryosen offered. “Growing senile in his old age?”

That got under the normally level-headed Ascian’s skin. Emet Selch’s eyes narrowed with dislike and he jabbed a finger at Ryosen like as though it was a gun. “Brutes should stay silent unless it is their intent to broadcast their stupidity. Ascians do not age. We are immortal. Do you not even know what that means?”  
“You Ascians have had your fun for millennia,” Ryosen said, voice oozing with contempt. “Treating us like worthless dogs with no right to live, culling us like pests and telling us that we deserve it. But now, four of your Red Masks have died within years of each other, including Lahabrea—one of the unbroken, or whatever it is you call yourselves—and Elidibus has had his rump handed to him by two of us 'lesser mortals’ in a matter of days. Either you are growing weak, or we are worth more than you in your arrogance believe—in which case the entire reasoning for your Rejoinings is a lie. Which one is it, Emet Selch? Are you decaying, or are you wrong?”

“And you think it would all have been different without us?” the Ascian sneered. “Even without us to fan the flames, you start wars and commit atrocities too numerous for even one of my lifetimes can list.”

“Indeed, such horrors! The Rejoinings, where you slaughter billions with merely a shadow of a hope that all that blood will please your god. Much less barbaric.” Ryosen was contempt personified.

“I do not see you as truly alive,” Emet Selch repeated his words from before. “Ergo I do not see killing you as murder.”

“What remarkable logic,” the Samurai laughed in his face. “I bet you can extend that definition to anyone and everyone when it suits you. How many cages full of people will you be butchering just because they think and live differently? Did you not do that already unleash that flawless reasoning to massacre your own kind, the ones who summoned Hydaelyn to counteract Zodiark?”

“That…” Emet Selch faltered. “That was different.”

“I’m sure.”

“Supposition is all you have to go by. You weren’t there, yet it is my history. I have lived it.”

“And _you_ are _caged_ in it. Look at you! Millennia gone, and it still haunts you, dictates your every last action. And your actions? You dare try to push the blame on us? Yes, we are flawed, yes we are bloodthirsty, but it is not our invention. All the tools of war—Magitek, the doomsday technology of Allag, even the blasted Primals… they all find their roots in you. If our conflicts are horrifically bloody, it is because of your meddling. Without you, the dust you have kicked up might eventually settle down one day. And if that proves impossible for us, it’s because you opened Pandora’s Box.”

“Fine, fine.” Emet Selch seemed to have grown bored by all of this, but Ryne could not help but feel like he was troubled. “You seem determined to blame us for all of your problems. By all means continue to do so if it comforts you. No matter what you do, your days are numbered.”

With that, he finished his drink and left the room, waving nonchalantly as he did.  
“Well done!” Y'shtola clapped. “With luck he’ll try something stupid in the Source and Zenos will slow him for us.”

“I don’t think he will be leaving us,” Urianger said. “He sees us as the biggest threat to the Ascians, we who have foiled their plans at so many turns.”  
“More fool he is, then!” Ryosen sat, massaging a flare up near his belly. Ryne looked at him concernedly. He had told them that Bishamonten’s curse was broken, and the curse pains leaving him, but that wasn’t what she saw. “When do you plan to move against Eulmore? The sooner we cast down this Don Vauthry the less time he will have to react to it.”

“Are you… are you really okay to fight?” Ryne piped up. “Your curse has weakened but it has not entirely broken. Not yet.”

He looked at her, his face softening. “And you must be Ryne? E'nisse has told me much about you.” The twinkle in his eye as he beheld her brought a fierce joy fought with her indignation that he had brushed off her objection, but then he spoke again. “As Ryne says, I am better but not cured. If I may make a request, I would like to rest a few days. See if the pain leaves, if my curse really is gone or not.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Alphinaud asked.

“If it’s not going to get better, then there’s no sense in waiting anyway, and I will fight the battle that fate has called upon me to as I am, hoping that it will be enough. I guarantee that the curse stays dormant while I hold even a wooden sword. I will do my duty.”

“That’s what I am afraid of,” Ryne said, but softly. She was keenly aware that Ryosen’s summoning had been largely at her insistence. But now that it was done, she could see she had greatly underestimated the curse, if a weakened version was still as bad as what her Senses told her.

Please don’t die, Father. Please.


	23. Shuffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryosen and Ryne want to spend some time together.

Ryne was getting exhausted. It had been hours since Ryosen had joined them—and E'nisse had also returned a short while back, while Olivier had left them to celebrate with his lover. Although she had managed to exchange a few words with him, he and the other adults had spent all of that time discussing the current state of the war in their home. It was intense stuff, but not being a native of the Source she was feeling out of place here. 

Not to mention, she desperately wanted to get to know their newest guest. The others had shared so many wonderful stories, some of his singular skills but others of how ordinary he was, and always, always the backdrop of his romance to the true Minfilia added a big element of glamor to him.

Not to mention Minfilia’s last whisper before she passed.

Then there was how he had, in their few exchanged sentences, managed to find a sweet spot between remembering her age and taking her seriously. Even Erika hadn’t managed that, and the twins, despite being themselves young, had grown up at their own pace. Everyone had been unsure in how to treat her. Even Thancred hadn’t escaped that hole. 

No one had been so sure in their treatment of Ryne as had Ryosen, and she found herself eager to get to know him better. Her Father. Her heart skipped every time she thought that.

She thought of several people as her Father; Thancred, who had steadfastly guarded her, and Urianger, who had been eager to teach her anything she wanted. But what Minfilia had said, about Ryosen being like a spiritual father to all Minfilias as she had been their mother…

“Ryne?” Ryosen asked. “Are you okay? Good heavens, look how late it’s gotten! We’ve been talking for hours.”

“It’s okay!” she said. “You’re all talking important things. Take all the time you need.”

“We can talk more tomorrow, right?” Erika looked around the table. “We’re mostly done anyway. Retire for dinner, then bed?”

“A fine idea,” Y'shtola said. She stood and stretched like a cat. “We cannot influence the events in the Source directly at this moment, so it is best not to get too caught up in it. Better to rest up now. It will get hectic again in a few days!”

They parted in short order there, and as Ryne shuffled exhaustedly to the door, Ryosen hurried up to her.

“Ryne, will you be amenable to eating dinner with me?”

She brightened up instantly. “Okay!” she said without hesitation.

The others were already leaving them alone, some giving encouraging nods and smiles to Ryne and Ryosen.


	24. Beam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucia and Olivier are very happy.

Olivier Dereyne and Lucia Junius kissed fiercely, deeply elated to be here together, in this moment. For once, they weren’t in the most private places—the streets of Ala Mhigo. And even though they were far from Ishgard, the city was quite close to the front, and so there were soldiers nearby—including many of Ishgard. 

These men and women openly gawked at seeing their Second-in-Command locked in a close embrace with the Second Azure Dragon. If either lover had cared to notice, they’d have seen some of the soldiers looking aghast, or even sad. Some whispered about bets lost, for many had thought Lucia was in fact Ser Aymeric’s lover. That she would or even could be in love with anyone else given her absolute loyalty to her Superior seemed never to have occurred to them.

At last, they broke apart, beaming so bright they might have been another pair of lamps that brightened the streets. 

“I think we’re being watched,” Lucia breathed.

“Don’t you people have anything better to do?” Olivier addressed his fellow Ishgardians.

Lucia laughed hard as the peeping soldiers tried to hastily disappear as if they had never been there. “That one’s disappearing into a bush!”

Olivier laughed himself breathless. “Kia… I’ve never been so happy my entire life!”

“Hmmmm!” she gave him sidelong squint, pursing her lips in pretend scrutiny.

“You know what? I think I can tell!”

“What about you, Kia?” he asked. “If this isn’t what you want, then…”

“You would really ask me that now?” she asked. “Now?”

“I know the answer, my dearest. But I need to ask, and I need to hear your answer. We are going to be parents soon! Everything is about to change!”

“I suppose this is true,” she agreed. “It took me by surprise. We had been taking precautions all our time together… except perhaps on that last night I suppose. And when I did realize it… I thought I wasn’t ready for, that we had many miles to go before we could begin settling down. But we are here now, and never before have I known such happiness. Such eager anticipation. I want to have these children.”

Olivier did a double take. “Wait, children?”

“Oops, did I give it away?” she giggled. “Aye, my Love. Lady Kan-E-Senna herself examined me a half hour before you arrived, and gave me the news. Twins, a son and a daughter.”

“Oh my!” Olivier whispered. He was feeling dizzy and grinning like a fool. “Oh my!”

“Remember to breathe, my Darling!” she laughed, and he took in a staggering breath. “If you faint, I am leaving you here.”

“Meanie.”

“I’m retiring from the front lines. Focusing more on the administrative side of being Second-in-Command. As the pregnancy wears on, I intend to leave active service for a while. My first duty right now is to them. And to you, perhaps.”

“If that is your decision, then I will be there right beside you. .”

“You too?” she arched an eyebrow. “That’s two of the greatest warriors in the Alliance who have withdrawn from the field, at a time where they need all hands on deck.”

“The Scions and Suns can pick up the slack,” he assured her. “And the Alliance is far from done. If there is one thing these last few years have taught me, a hero will always rise to meet a threat. But these children… our children, and you. I won’t miss you for the world.”

All three of her eyes shone with barely restrained happiness. “I love you, you damned idiot Dragoon.”

He kissed her nose. “Your idiot Dragoon. Yours alone.”

The couple were indeed happier than their beaming faces let on. Everything had changed, and they were changing, happily, to meet their new life together.

*


	25. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryne returns to her room with presents from Ryosen.

“You’re early!” E'nisse exclaimed. “I expected you to spend the whole night getting to know each other!”

“Well, I did promise to rest,” Ryosen grinned. He was already so much better than he had been in the Source, like as though he had left all of his regrets behind. “I intend to stay awhile here in the First. Ryne and I will hopefully have all the time we need to get to know one another.”

“We had such a good time though!” Ryne said excitedly. “And Ryosen-san agreed to teach me the way of the Samurai starting tomorrow!”

“I didn’t!” he protested. “I said I’m resting tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh?” Ryne challenged, hands on her hips. “What of the day after?”

“Done!” Ryosen offered her his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she grinned and shook it. E'nisse couldn’t help but notice that her grin was like to the Au Ra’s.

“Good night, Ryne.”

“Good night, Ryosen-san!”

Once the doors closed, leaving the pair alone, E'nisse immediately commented. “You two have gotten close really quick.”

“Eh? Is that a problem?” Ryne asked.

“Not in this case,” E'nisse said. “We know Ryosen, and he’s quite honest. You on the other hand… do you always trust new people so easily? I remember you trusting us as quickly.”

“Well, all of you are special cases,” Ryne said defensively. “Thancred risked his life to get me out of my cage in Eulmore, and he and Urianger told me a lot of stories about the Warriors of Light from their world. And I had Minfilia’s echoes guiding me sometimes, which told me that you can be trusted. When I met you all, it was like I already knew you. And Ryosen… Minfilia told me herself that I can trust him completely. I’m not… I’m not a completely naive child.”

“Well, a little caution is good for you either way kiddo. Promise me you will remember that.”“I promise,” Minfilia sighed.  
“So what did you talk about?”

All of her earlier enthusiasm appeared to come flooding back to Minfilia. “He gave me a present!” she exclaimed, and removed the silk-wrapped tube from her side. 

Unwrapping it, she revealed a thick, lacquered leather case in which rested a beautiful, polished bamboo flute. Being a Bard, a lover of music, E'nisse’s eyes narrowed to slits in her own excitement. 

“Oh, I remember that!”

“It’s his shakuhachi! He played it for me, showing me a few of his favorite songs—and Minfilia’s as well! And he told me a lot about Doma, his home! And showed me how to play and take care of this too!” She hugged the instrument. “He promised to tell me more stories!”

“Well, I certainly approve!” E'nisse bounced eagerly on her bed. “One can never hear enough stories. And will you tell me said stories? I don’t know many good Doman ones; Erika had me shooting Garleans in Gyr Abania while she went there alone, the meanie!”

Ryne, who loved her roommate for her unending store of bedtime stories to tell her, was delighted to return the favor. “Your wish is my command!”


	26. When Pigs Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End is in sight and Desmond knows something is wrong.

Desmond woke up to find himself in Y'shtola’s arms. Memories of the night’s passion flooded back to him and he felt deeply content. They had not made love in ages. Not since she recovered from the wound Zenos gave her. And it had been much longer for her than it had for him.

Stirring, he tightened his embrace gently, so as to not disturb Y'shtola.

“Awake, are we?” she asked, nuzzling up against his breast.

He nibbled her ear softly, just the way she liked. She purred in response, her tail swishing slightly.

“It’s all going to end soon, isn’t it?” Desmond asked. “Tomorrow we face Vauthry.”

“And Ran'jit. Although defeating him falls to Ryosen.”

“What happens when we kill the last Lightwarden?”

“If all works out as we’d hoped, this world gets saved from the Light. And we avert the Eighth Umbral Calamity back home.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?”

“There is little we can do, but to fight and fight and only give when pigs fly. For those who fought before us, for those who continue to fight, and those yet to come. We can never surrender, even if all hope fails us.” Her voice quavered at the end.

“There’s something you’re afraid to tell me,” he said. “Something you and Urianger discuss in hushed whispers when the rest of us have our backs turned. And I haven’t forgotten how when we first reunited in this world, you took me for a Sin Eater—and a powerful one at that.”

Her ears drooped and she sighed against his chest. She nipped at his neck and ear before sitting upright on his chest. Her eyes bore right into his, their quiet blaze rendering him immobile. 

“The Light that you and Erika absorbed from the Eaters has not just disappeared, Dezzy. It’s still there, festering within your souls. And there’s nothing we can do to remove it.”

“It is going to consume me, isn’t it?" 

"Not while I live,” Y'shtola growled, but there was a deep note of despair in her voice that she could not hide. “As with my earlier answer in light of the bigger picture, so too with you; the apple of my heart. I will fight, and fight, till my last tooth is ripped out of its socket, and my nails ripped out from the fingers. Until pigs fly, the Light can not have you.”


	27. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown between Ran’jit and Ryosen, each the greatest warrior in their world, each loves Minfilia in his own way.

The group ran through the streets and halls of Eulmore. Everyone had been turned into mindless husks out to kill them or die trying, but they were little more than a hindrance when faced with real, seasoned warriors. Backed by the Exarch’s soldiers, the Scions had successfully knocked every one of their adversaries out cold and restrained them.

When Vauthry and the Lightwarden were overthrown, they would be freed of their curse. Or so Alphinaud hoped. He knew many of these people, and flawed though they were, they weren’t bad folk; he could not bear the thought that they were beyond saving.

*

Alisaie looked fondly at her brother. She wanted to squeeze him tight, tell him how proud he made her. His compassion for commonfolk did him great credit. She understood, of course, and felt the same way. She too had learned to love those she protected. Like little Ga-bu—who had been responding more and more each week, showing real signs of recovery. Like Tesleen and her fellow carers at Inn at Journey’s Head, or the patients like Halric.

He noticed her looking at him. “What is it, Alisaie? Why do you look at me like that?”  
“Ask me again afterwards, I might tell you!” she answered, slapping his back lightly.

*

They reached a massive, ornate hall after their long climb. It was far more opulent and luxurious than anything Urianger had ever seen. It was so gaudy that for a moment all he could do was stare open mouthed, causing Y'shtola to stop and raise an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Words… Words utterly faileth me in the face of such ludicrous, tasteless, pointless display of riches.”

“That was fifteen words, Urianger,” Desmond said. “And perfectly accurate I say.”

“Thou kept count?”

“Whenever someone says ‘Words fail me’.”

“Is that him?” Came the Sword Saint’s quiet voice. 

Everyone turned to look in the direction the Samurai was facing. It was indeed Ran'jit who stood barring their way.

Something was different. He was garbed in a mantle of red and black today; a mantle that looked fit for carnage. He also bore a wicked red-and-black scythe today. This was unsettling. Even unarmed he could wipe the floor with four of Hydaelyn’s chosen. Urianger felt deeply relieved that they had called reinforcements. If the Sword Saint could not best this hurdle, there were no legions that could.

“You will find my Master in his chamber,” he said. “But only should you kill me this day. And you will not.”

“You’re not like the other puppets we’ve faced today,” Erika said. “You fight of your own free will.”

“Indeed, I uphold Lord Vauthry’s ideals of my own volition. For you see, man is an inherently flawed creature. In his vain pursuit of righteousness, he but sows the seeds of future conflict. Thus have I chosen to place my hopes in he who has transcended men, upon he who is unbound by the vagaries of conscience.”

“An argument worthy of an Ascian,” Ryosen barked, placing his hand on the hilt of his katana. “The ones who brought the flood to your world, and also conspire to destroy mine. The world Minfilia came from.”

“Do not take her name, barbarian!” Ran'jit sneered back. “In the last seventy years, I have served as guardian, caretaker, and trainer for four Minfilias! I have mourned the passing of one I regarded as a daughter time and again!”

“And now you happily betray all four of them,” Ryosen shot back. “Well done! All Minfilias will be pleased.”

“I told you not to take her name!”

“Do not pretend to be the only one to love that woman, or that name!” Thancred shouted. “All of us knew Minfilia too! Some of us watched her grow right from her childhood, watched her become our world’s foremost beacon of hope! And she was ripped from us too, twice!”

“She gave the last embers of her soul to save this world from the Flood!” Y'shtola whispered. “And I will be damned if I allow her sacrifice to be in vain!”

“Thou, who hath long ago forsaken those selfsame ideals,” Urianger intoned. “We say unto thee what thou said unto us: do not speak that name ever again!”

“Leave this one to me,” Ryosen said. He sunk deep into a crouch, left hand steadying the saya while his right prepared to draw the sword.

A sense of foreboding griped Urianger. The battle would decide the future of two worlds, and the fate of one woman’s soul.

Destiny had placed them on a collision course, they who had all loved this same woman with all of their hearts, in their own way. They who should have been bosom friends were now ready to draw steel, and spill blood.

*


	28. Irenic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown continues and concludes.

Ran'jit budged first. But before he could move in earnest, Ryosen was already upon him. In the same motion as the draw, the Samurai struck. He aimed a blow at the old man’s throat, a blow so fast that no mortal eye could hope to follow its trajectory, and even if it did, no mortal body capable of responding. A blow which failed to penetrate the veteran’s guard nonetheless.

The old man stopped one blow, and another reverse chop, and another from high. But though his ability to fend off the younger man’s attacks was astounding, it was not without cost.

For each time the weapons clashed, Ran'jit was left more shaken than before.  
The fourth strike he only barely avoided, his body twisting desperately at the last second. The katana which might have cleaved him in two, merely smote his back. He stumbled forwards and fell to his knees, gasping in pain from the wound.

But his opening lasted only for a moment. For in the next, he was back on his feet, scythe held out like a spear in front of him. “You… you are good. Unlike any foe I have ever faced.”

“You as well,” Ryosen said. He had not seized the opportunity to strike, something Ran'jit hadn’t failed to notice.

“Indeed, your skill is astounding, but not your resolve. Tell me” He demanded.

“Why did you not cut me down when you had me then? Is that some notion of honor?”

“No,” the swordsman answered. “A courtesy. Whatever you might be today, you did protect four generations of Minfilias. I understand your despair, for losing just one was enough to crush my soul. Losing four… it is enough to break anyone. But things are different now.”

“Why? Do you think that your help is all that it takes to banish the Light? That all of our sacrifices to hold it back was merely a staying action until you and yours arrived? That my struggles and losses were nothing? The arrogance!”

“Whatever you choose to call it, my friends banished the eternal light from Lakeland, Il Mehg, Raktika, and Ahm Areng. Kholsia is all that remains.”

“Texts tell of how the Light seemed to be on the verge of falling back once before,” the grizzled old man spat. “But it overcame the pitiful dams that we mortals built to stem the tide. Why is this time any different?”

“Perhaps it is not. Is this your answer? Aiding a debaucherous and debased tyrant? If defeat is certain, fight until your last breath. For the Minfilia you claimed to love.”

“Foolish, foolish child!” Ran'jit stiffened with fury, uncaring of the small trickle of blood seeping through his wound. “I reject your offer. But you… if YOU truly love Minfilia, do not allow her life to be discarded in vain. Turn her over to me and submit yourself to Don Vauthry’s justice!”

“This girl is not Minfilia. She is Ryne, and her destiny is her own to write. Not yours, not mine. But you… I have your answer, and I your destiny is mine to decide.”

*

The gap that Ran'jit defended was narrow, too narrow to dash through while Ryosen held him back. 

All they could do was watch. And so the Scions watched, transfixed. This fight was unlike any that they had seen before. And its like would probably not be seen again in any world, for both combatants were the sort of genius born only once in a thousand years.

They had already seen Ran'jit in action before but today—even wounded as he had been in the first moments—he was a deadly foe. And Ryosen… Most of them had seen Ryosen fight on several occasions, but today they realized just how much he had been holding back. Even that time he faced Zenos in the Throne room of the Palace in Ala Mhigo he hadn’t seemed this lethal.  
Perhaps the curse upon him truly had weakened, and he was no longer as hindered by pain; although that didn’t seem the whole truth, for Erika knew him well enough to catch his tiny winces.

The conclusion she reached was that it was because the Samurai was using a real sword instead of wood. Wood could be reinforced, as Ryosen had proven many times. But the steel became a direct tool for his will to assert itself on the world.

And by Nhald did he use it! He was all over Ran'jit, blows raining down from every direction, and each time their weapons clashed a sound like crystal bells hung in the air. But the old man was no slouch either. Both men danced and spun, their weapons creating a smokey haze in which they appeared to exist. But the battle’s conclusion was decided long before Ryosen had abandoned words. 

Despite the curse still hampering his movements, he still had two undeniable advantages. One was the injury he had already dealt the old warrior. The second was age. If the legendary warrior had been of the same age as Ryosen, he may have been his equal in combat. But due to his advanced age, each clash robbed him of his stores of energy, bit by bit. Until he was left gasping, his weapon falling from numb fingers.

This time, Ryosen did not offer a reprieve. “May your wayward soul know peace at last,” he said, before plunging his sword into the old warrior’s heart.

The old man gasped as his life left him. At Erika’s side, Ryne flinched and uttered a single choked sob, but did not look away.  
*


	29. Paternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryosen has a decision to make

“Oi, Ryosen?”

“Thancred!” Ryosen smiled, straightening from his stance to greet the Scion.

“Do you hate me?” he asked rather directly. "Do you wish it had been you, and not me watching over Minfilia?“ 

Ryosen tried not to frown. The former Minstrel had become quite a gruff, direct man here in the First. Gone were the easy smiles and the airy manner. His face was as serious as any Samurai’s, and his manner of speaking just as terse.

"I do not,” Ryosen denied. When Thancred raised his eyebrows skeptically, Ryosen sighed. “It’s the truth.” In his days since arriving, he had often watched Ryne’s nervous but obviously affectionate exchanges with Thancred with some jealousy, that was true. Thancred had spent years as Ryne’s protector and mentor, and though he might have been a little more abrasive than necessary, he had done a good job raising her. But that jealousy was only a candle next to the sun that was his regret. "My only real regret about Ryne is that I couldn’t be here with you rather than instead of you. I am sad I didn’t get time.“ 

He found himself greatly liking Ryne right from the start, like the daughter he’d never have. He thought she liked him too. Perhaps it was something Minfilia told her that final day?

But regardless of how quick and easy their rapport had been, their time together would be short. 

"Two weeks. Two weeks were all we got, and now… now the clock is ticking.” Now that Erika and Desmond had slain Emet Selch and saved the First. He would be heading home soon. And he would never see Ryne again. “Our time… my time. It’s almost coming to an end.” His voice broke, and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself, lest he broke down in front of Thancred. “But that does not mean I begrudge what you had with her. Your time, your relationship. You have done so much for her, and have kept her alive and well as best you could while dealing with your own grief. Indeed… indeed I find myself feeling deeply indebted to you for safeguarding her, and Minfilia’s will as well as you have.”

“I’m sorry. I deeply misunderstood.” Thancred took a stance opposite him, drawing his gunblade. “Can I join you for a bit?”

Ryosen grinned. “Certainly.”

As they sparred, Thancred spoke again. “You know… there’s no reason for you to return home with us. You can stay here, and be with Ryne. Obligations to the Alliance back home be damned.”

Ryosen’s mouth hung open. "What?“

"Never occured to you, did it?” Thancred laughed, and it saddened Ryosen to see that his laugh was not what it had once been. It sounded… a tad weary. He pounced forward, unleashing a steady series of swings that Ryosen deflected.

“You Samurai are quite a duty-obsessed bunch. No offense.”

“None… none taken,” Ryosen said, his mind racing.

“You’ve said yourself, often, how abandoning your oath in favor of fighting for the people when they needed you was the right course of action. How selling your sword—your very soul, as the Samurai say—so that your people wouldn’t starve was also the right thing to do. You know it, everyone else knows it. It should have been such an easy thing to do, and yet even now it eats you up that you did it. Always, the right thing to do was not what the way of the Samurai dictated, yet it still has such a hold on you. On the way you think.”

“Indeed it does…” Thancred did not fight like most Gunbreakers. He did not use cartridges often, since he required Ryne to infuse it for him. And he relied more on fleet-footed dance that he had used as a Rogue than the steady, slowly advancing footwork that Gunbreakers did. His way of defense—personal and defending others—involved evasion rather than endurance. It made for a more personalized style of fighting, a mark of an experienced warrior.  
Ryosen enjoyed the sparring session, and was almost sad when Thancred stopped abruptly, holstering his gunblade.

“Well, just think about it. What do you really want? You, as an individual? Do you want to return to the Source? Or will you remain here with Ryne—with your daughter?”

“My…”

“Ryne has tried to hide it, but Y'shtola knew right away. Even before she did, perhaps. Ryne, and perhaps all of the Minfilias before her, had the soul of Minfilia’s unborn child. Your child.”

His eyes filled with tears. “So it’s true…”

“Yes it is, but you already knew that, didn’t you? Paternal instinct and all that. So what will you do? Remain here with your daughter? Or return with us? And don’t think too much. What does your heart want?”

Well. That was an easy enough question to answer at least, but Thancred had left with a wink before he could say it. 

He recalled Bishamonten’s parting words. “Try not to add to thy regrets, Kensei. No matter what happens, do not betray thyself again. Thou can escape me, it seems, but no matter which world thou travels to, thou cannot escape thyself." 

Had he known? Had his words been encouragement for Ryosen to follow this path? It didn’t matter. Thancred was right. The best he could do was to make the choice he could best live with, and he wanted nothing more than this.

"This is my Way now,” he said to himself. “The path I choose.”


	30. Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

It was sunrise. The novelty of light chasing away the darkness at dawn was as inspiring to the people of Norvrandt as the night sky itself was. Indeed, the sea of light had even hidden the true nature of the sky at daytime. No one in living memory had seen the merry sun, or the blue heavens, or the white clouds. Not until the Warriors of Darkness had killed the first Lightwarden.  
As a consequence, everything about the sky was special to them. They would flock to see the sky at different times of the day and night.  
It wasn’t uncommon for three quarters of the Crystarium to be awake to greet the coming of day.

But Ryne wasn’t distracted by the commotion any more than the dawn. She continued her practice in the training yard with absolute focus, swinging her wooden bokken. After her thousand swings, she took a short breather before her intense sparring session with Ryosen.  
This was how she had greeted the dawn every day for over three years now, and with each passing day she felt her technique improve and reach new heights. Every few months, she noticed with pride how Ryosen was forced to unleash more and more of the skill he had demonstrated in the fight against Ran'jit. She didn’t think she would ever catch up to the two men in raw weapon skill, but perhaps one day she would be a hero in her own right.

“Well done,” Ryosen cried as Ryne executed a perfect Kaeshi Setsugekka. “But it was a little too much for your weapon, wasn’t it?”

Ryne squawked in embarrassed surprise when her wooden sword creaked and splintered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryosen said. “It happened to me too, many times. Wood cannot be imbued with the spirit’s energy as carelessly as steel. It requires a more delicate handling. But that is the very reason a wooden sword is better for training. It teaches you to be economical with your strength. Your skill is as a Samurai has reached new heights!”

Ryne beamed. “Thank you! I don’t know if I’ll ever be a match for you, but perhaps I can be as good as the Warriors of Darkness were.”

“You already are,” Ryosen had told her. “You are already on the same footing as Erika and Desmond. Perhaps even the both of them combined. And the Kaeshi Setsugekka is such an advanced technique.”

“But skill is only one part of what they were,” she insisted. “I want to be a hero like them. I want to travel the world, head to even the smallest villages, help with any task no matter how trivial they might appear! I want to be good and kind for no other reason than to be so! And I want to be a force that stands tall and strikes down anything that threatens to harm the innocent!”

“Sounds good!” Ryosen applauded. “Then perhaps it’s time to begin… a pilgrimage, of sorts?”

She considered that. “A pilgrimage?”

“Travel the world, and protect the innocent. Just like you were saying. Let’s start right here in Lakeland. I hear that the Gremlins are growing restless. Seems as good a place to start as any!”

“Okay!” Ryne sprang up. “But wait! I don’t have a weapon.” She regretfully dropped the remains of her wooden training sword.

“Hmmm. So you don’t!” Ryosen made a show of considering that. Then, he removed the sword from his obi and offered it to her with both hands. Ryne was too awed to speak. “Perhaps this will do?”


End file.
